Needy Child
by Feyna
Summary: America is all grown up now, but Canada is still a child. A little, useless child who's no longer needed nor loved by his older brother. When an accident happens, will it reinforce Canada's belief or prove him wrong? (Pre-Revolutionary War)
1. Chapter 1

**Notes** **:** Here I am with another story focused on the NA brothers, and later the ACE family. I just can't get enough of them! This will be slightly angsty at the beginning, but it's probably just some childish melodrama, then it will move to fluffy. There's not much plot here, I just needed to write something about child!Canada and teen!America because they're the most adorable thing ever, but I don't see many fics set in that period. I hope you can enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** **:** I don't own anything, nor do I get any profit for writing this. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, credits for the cover picture go to bebe (pixiv member id=88560).

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Over the last few days, Canada had come to a conclusion: America didn't care for him anymore.

The mere admission made his heart clench painfully, a big lump form in his throat, but he couldn't deny what was in front of his eyes.

When they had both been children, America would spend time with him, play with him… Sure, he had also forgotten or dismissed him more than a few times, and rarely listened to any of his suggestions, always deciding on his own, but he had been happy whenever they played together, never turning down an opportunity to do so. Since he had begun growing up, however, America had done nothing but study. Well, almost. He still _did_ have some free time, but he hardly ever spent it with Canada. Whenever Canada wanted to do something with his brother, America would turn him down with the excuse of being busy.

Exactly like he had just done. In spite of having promised him that they would spend some time together.

It was a beautiful day – still winter, the air was still cold and crisp, but the sun shone high in the bright blue, cloudless sky, basking the green meadows in his golden light. It was the perfect day for playing, as Canada had gleefully announced to his older brother, hoping that he would remember the promise he had made him the previous day, only to be coldly overlooked. The older boy had barely spared a glance at him, his eyes never leaving the book they had been glued to, before declaring that no, he didn't have time to play. He was a grown up now, he had responsibilities.

Canada felt his heart plummet in his chest at the cold indifference in his brother's voice, the air was squeezed out of his lungs. He stood there for a moment, wide-eyed, a part of him still hoping to see America lift his bright eyes and beam at him as he had done countless times before, but his brother didn't show any further acknowledgement of his presence.

Finally, Canada turned away, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped, dragging his feet as he walked away slowly, a part of his mind still stubbornly clinging to the hope of hearing his brother's voice call him back.

It didn't happen.

In spite of the warm sun rays caressing his skin, Canada could feel the cold seeping into his bones.

"Why won't he play with me anymore, Kumachiki?" he whispered forlornly to his companion.

The bear cub lifted his head from the leaves he had been playing with, his black eyes focusing on Canada.

"Who?"

"Alfie! America!" Canada pouted, stomping his feet.

The bear tilted his head to a side, unperturbed by the child's small tantrum.

"No, who are you?"

Canada felt his chest tighten at those words. Not even Kumajiro remembered him.

"Never mind," he muttered, turning around.

He felt like crying. _'Of course, why would Kuma even remember me?'_ he thought as he kicked a pebble out of his way. There was nothing remarkable about him, nothing that made him worthy of attention.

His eyes fell again on America's frame, in the same position he had been before, reading in the shade of the trees.

His brother was almost an adult now. _"Fifteen,"_ he had told him with pride just a few days before, checking his growing, muscular body on a mirror. His brother was strong and smart, brave and lively, his eyes constantly glowing, he never cowered in front of anything, always ready for a new challenge.

Canada, on the other hand, was still small. _'Small and pathetic,'_ he amended as he examined his pale fingers. They were still chubby, but not as much as America's had been, he was thin for a child his age, he remembered England telling him. His skin was soft and porcelain white, so unlike America's golden complexion, still unblemished.

No wonder America couldn't see him. America had sun, prosperous lands, he was strong and loud. Canada was nothing compared to him, just a frozen wasteland. Oh, it was a gorgeous frozen wasteland, where the Northern Lights glowed over the fresh snow, marvellous and terrible, but ultimately useless. Just a pretty sight, a pretty doll. How could anybody ever love him?

He remembered France, who had been tall and handsome and had smiled as he knelt by him, telling him he was precious and loved. Canada had felt his chest fill with warmth at those words, eager to please the man who gently stroked his hair and whispered in his ear that he was the most beautiful child in the whole world.

But France had only ever wanted two things: furs and goods. And when he had realized that Canada couldn't offer much of those, he had been quick to leave him without sparing a second thought to the child he had called his younger brother.

Then had come England.

England, whose eyes had lingered over Canada's form, who had taken his hand and boldly declared him his family. England who had tended to him as he was sick after the war, wetting his feverish brow as he sang lullabies and told him fairy tales to try to divert his mind from the pain.

Canada had felt his heart melt, happiness swelling his chest. He had felt loved and cherished.

Then, he had seen the way England looked at America. How his features softened each time he talked to the child, how the smile lingered on his lips when he looked at the cheerful colony.

Canada had felt his chest tighten, the warmth disappearing as he realized that England never looked at him that way. Oh, it wasn't like he was cruel to him, he was actually always kind and attentive, but it felt forced and fake compared to the tenderness he reserved to America.

Canada had tried. He had tried as hard as he could.

But no matter his efforts, there was no way he could be as bright as America. He could never bring that light to England's eyes.

Now, not even America looked at him anymore.

"What did I do wrong?" Canada wondered out loud, raising his eyes to the sky.

Surely, it had to be his fault. Something he could fix, if tried hard enough. But what if he couldn't? What if it wasn't something he did, but something he _was_? Something he couldn't change. How could he make anybody care for him? What if he didn't _deserve_ it?

Suddenly, the brightness of the sky seemed out of place, the light jarring with his foul mood. He pressed his tight fists against his clenched eyes, trying to ignore the warm tears that were burning against his eyelids.

"Hey." Something nudged his leg. "Don't be sad. I don't like when you're sad."

Kumajiro was next to him, looking at him with his unblinking black eyes.

Canada knelt by the bear, stroking his soft fur as the tightness in chest abated slightly. He wasn't completely alone, at least Kumajiro had come to him.

"America won't play with me anymore," he whispered sadly, "He _promised_ , but he doesn't even remember."

The bear leaned into his touch.

"He has a lot to do," he said, "He's growing up. A growing nation needs to work very hard."

Canada bit his lower lip, suddenly feeling horribly selfish.

He should have known that America had more important things to do, he shouldn't bother him. Kumajiro's words, however, had planted an idea in his mind.

"Hey, Kumakiji, maybe if I do something to help him he'll love me again!" he declared, brightening up.

The bear didn't answer. When he glanced at him, Canada saw that his interest seemed to be taken by a yellow flower, but at that moment it didn't really matter. For once, Canada knew what he had to do.

A moment later, however, his enthusiasm evaporated. Yes, his plan would have been good, if not for an insurmountable flaw: there was nothing that Canada could do to help his brother. He couldn't read the books for him and explain them to him, he wasn't smart enough. Besides, it wasn't like he could study in his place.

Automatically, his eyes darted to his brother's frame, still sitting under the trees. He hadn't moved since Canada had talked to him, the only change had been the number of read pages of the book. Canada watched as the older boy went on reading, occasionally shifting slightly to accommodate his weight. Sometimes, his right hand would leave the book and fish into a basket at his side, then go back to his mouth with a cookie.

Suddenly, as he watched his brother munch one of the sweet treats, Canada came to a realization: while he couldn't relieve his older brother of any of his duties, that didn't mean there was absolutely nothing he could do to help. For example, judging from the rate America was eating at, the basket was soon going to be empty. And his brother would either have to stop eating or waste some time looking for food.

"Oh, I know how I can help!" Canada said excitedly, patting Kumajiro's head. "Thanks, Kuma!"

Without waiting for an answer, the boy dashed to the house, quivering with expectation. He was sure that Alfred would be happy after that. He would smile and thank him, ruffling his hair, and maybe, even if he didn't have time to play right now, he would remember next time he was free? Matthew strongly hoped so.

He almost thrust open the door, barely able to contain his excitement.

"Mrs Jane!" he called. His voice wasn't certainly loud, but it resounded in the absolute stillness of the house.

He quickly moved to the kitchen, where he was sure he would find the woman England had instructed to look after his colonies' needs.

"Mrs Jane, would you mind…" The words died in his throat as Canada found himself face to face with the woman.

Mrs Jane was positively _glowering_. The thin features of her pale face were drawn in contempt, her grey eyes squinting under the knitted brow, the already thin lips tightened in a line. She was standing straight, her bony arms crossed across her chest, and the austere air was enhanced by the way her mousy brown hair was tightly tied in a small bun at the nape of her neck, exposing her sharp features.

Canada suddenly felt very small and insignificant before her scorching gaze. Mrs Jane didn't like him, he was far too aware of that. He never missed how her lips pinched in contempt whenever she had to take care of him and had been subjected numerous time to her harsh scolding if he accidentally slipped back to French. _"Savage monkey,"_ the woman would sneer under her breath, fully aware of the fact that the child could hear her. Canada certainly wasn't looking forward to asking her for a favour. He wouldn't have, if it were something for him. But this time was different: it was for Alfred.

Canada took a deep breath and swallowed, using all of his willpower to keep his shoulders squared and his back straight.

"Mrs Jane, may I have some cookies, please?" he asked, trying to enunciate each word correctly.

He was so focused on making sure of not slipping back to his former accent that he didn't realize his mistake until he saw Mrs Jane's eyes widen.

"You. Want. More. Cookies," the woman uttered slowly, her nostrils quivering with barely suppressed rage.

"N—Not for me!" Canada amended quickly, unconsciously taking a step back. "T—They would be for…"

Mrs Jane, however, ignored his tremulous words.

"I've cooked you breakfast only a few hours ago, you ungrateful child," she sneered, her eyes as cold as ice, "And you will have lunch at midday. You have more than enough food, what makes you think you are entitled to have any more cookies?"

Canada wanted nothing more than flee instead of facing the woman, but he forced himself to stay still, his body tense. He had to do that for _America_. And Mrs Jane liked America, she wouldn't object to him having a snack, he only needed to let her understand that.

"Mrs Jane, please," he whispered softly, his lilac eyes huge, "Alf—America is hungry, I won't…"

The woman interrupted him with a sharp gesture of her hand, her features contorted in a frown.

"Don't try to bring the young master into this! Don't you have any shame?! He's working hard, and you use this as an excuse for your greed?!"

Canada recoiled, his lips quivering.

"B—but," he stammered, "I—it's not for me, I think Alfred might…"

The sudden smack of Mrs Jane's hand against the door's hinge made Canada jump slightly.

"Stop this. Right. Now," the woman hissed, her lips curved in contempt. "I know that you're lying, you only want those cookies for yourself. Well, as I told you before: you'll have your food at lunchtime, no sooner. And don't you even dare go disturbing the young master over this silliness!"

Before Canada could even think of a reply, the door was slammed shut in front of his face, leaving him staring wide-eyed at the dark wood.

"…but I only wanted to get some food for Alfred," the child whispered mournfully, lowering his head.

He had been so sure that he could help… but once again, he had proven himself to be useless. Shouldn't an immortal being be fearless in front of humans? Probably, but Canada truly wasn't. He should have probably yelled at Mrs Jane, forced her to bake those cookies for him… but England had placed her as their caretaker. Wouldn't it be ungrateful of him to treat her badly? Besides, Jane probably had reasons for not liking him, and comparing him to America certainly wasn't doing him any favour.

His shoulders slumping, Canada turned away from the door and slowly walked out of the house, dragging his feet. He knew that he should be outside, it was a beautiful day, but he didn't think he could stand to see America again, not after he had failed so spectacularly and had seen his hopes of regaining his brother's attention being swept from under his feet.

He was barely out of the house when Kumajiro trotted to his side.

"I told you to stop being sad," the small bear reprimanded him, giving a slight tug to his tunic. "What now?"

Canada sighed.

"I wanted to bring Alfred some cookies, so maybe he would have liked me again," he explained, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to hold back the tears that were glistening at the corners of his eyes. "But I couldn't even do that. I'm useless. How can he love me if I'm useless, Kuma?"

The polar bear huffed, shaking his head.

"You don't need to bring him cookies to make him love you," he declared bluntly.

Canada felt the weight in his chest lessen slightly at his companion's words. He knew that they weren't true, America couldn't love him if he stayed useless, but it was sweet of Kumajiro to try and lighten up his mood. To remind him that no matter what, he wasn't completely alone.

Kneeling to rub the bear's head, he opened his mouth to reply – and suddenly, he realized that Kumajiro was right. He didn't need to bring America cookies to be useful, he could also…

"Kumaruko, Alfie likes apples, doesn't he?!" he asked excitedly, jerking up.

The bear merely tilted his head to a side, but Canada didn't actually need an answer. He knew that his brother was fond of apples (to be fair, he was fond of anything that could be eaten), and, to make things better, there was no need to involve Mrs Jane to get the fruit.

 _Now, where do I find…_

Canada's eyes lit up as he realized how maddeningly simple the solution to his dilemma was. And to think he had been close to tears a few minutes before… he was truly pathetic, but lucky enough to have Kumajiro by his side.

"Come with me, Kuma!" he squealed with excitement, "I know where to go!"

Without checking whether his familiar was following him, Canada started running as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Not far from the house, there was a big stream that cut right through the meadows, flanked by rows of wild trees. England always warned his colonies against getting too close to the water, for it was deep and the current strong, and he feared that they might not be able to best it if they were to fall in. Canada, however, had always found himself fascinated by the river, by the way the water whirled and foamed against the banks, accompanied by a strong roar. The boy had found himself often inching closer to the edge, curious to see from closer the crystalline yet potentially deadly depths.

At that moment, however, Canada's main interest didn't lie in the river, but rather, in the trees that grew around it – specifically, a big apple tree the child had discovered just over a creek of the stream. It carried big, fat apples, and he and America had more than once spent the afternoon among its branches, looking at the colourful birds and chatting as they happily munched the sweet threats.

America had laughed so much right then, his voice loud and his eyes sparkling… surely, an apple from the same tree would make him happy, wouldn't it?

Finally, slightly out of breath and with his cheeks reddened by the effort, Canada reached his destination. He took just a moment to regain his breath, placing his hands on his knees, then he was again on the move, swiftly climbing the sturdy branches with well-honed skill.

"Canada!"

The distressed sound made him stop for a moment to look down. Kumajiro was at the base of the tree, raised on his hind legs as his frontal paws pawed at the thick bark.

"You're here!" the boy commented happily. He could see that the bear's eyes were slightly widened but chalked it to his being surprised by his speed. "You can help me!"

Without waiting for an answer, Canada climbed higher, his attention focused on the small red apples that were dangling a few feet from him. They were a bit small, it wasn't exactly the right season for apples, but Canada reasoned that they would have to do. He couldn't get anything better, after all.

"Kuma, catch!" he yelled-whispered, throwing the first apple at his companion on the ground.

The bear let out a small whine of protest, but he did as he was told, piling the apples Canada threw at him beside the trunk.

"It's enough now, come down!" he called after a while.

Only then Canada realized how high he had climbed as he looked for new apples. He could see that there were other pomes dangling from higher branches, but the pile next to Kumajiro was already quite consistent, and the branch he was currently on wasn't that sturdy, climbing any higher might be dangerous.

It would have to do until lunch, he thought as he started climbing down, carefully measuring each move. Getting up had been easy, he had hardly thought about it, but climbing down always looked more difficult. The ground looked so far away, the branches so far apart for his short limbs… but America had always moved without any hesitation. If he did so, Canada could, too.

His jaw set in determination, Canada forced himself to ignore the ground and focus solely on each move. It was much easier that way.

He was halfway down when his eyes caught a glimpse of red.

The boy stopped dead, his body tensing as his eyes focused on the bright spot of colour between the leaves. In front of him, no more than a few feet away, was the biggest, brightest apple Canada had ever seen. It dangled from the extremity of a branch, smooth and inviting, as if daring him to come and get it. Canada stayed looking at it, transfixed, until Kumajiro's sudden call broke the spell.

"Come down!"

Canada started and looked down. The bear was pawing at the truck in impatience.

"You have enough, come down!"

He looked nervous and annoyed, and Canada immediately felt a little guilty for having him wait like that, but… his eyes fell on the pile of apples he had collected until then. They weren't few, and most of them were brightly coloured and smooth, but… so _little_. If they had looked acceptable before, now, before the luxurious fruit Canada had just discovered, they looked only pathetic excuses for apples.

Canada's eyes darted to the bigger apple. It was at the extremity of a branch that was dangling above the stream, but it looked sturdy enough. He was reasonably sure it could hold his weight. And how could he show America his pathetic harvest, after seeing that gorgeous apple? Canada would have been satisfied with the smaller apples, but his brother deserved the very best. How could he love him again if he didn't get that?

"Wait just a minute, Kuma!" he shouted down, barely sparing a glance at the fussing bear. "I just need to get that apple, I'll be right there!"

A distressed wail seeped through Kumajiro's mouth.

"Don't! It's dangerous up there!"

Canada, however, ignored him, his mind focused only on the actions needed to retrieve the fruit. Getting closer to the branch was easy, but after that, the boy realized the problem: it didn't look as strong as it had from further away, and there weren't any other branches close. Maybe it truly was too dangerous…

Canada's eyes fell again on the apple, bright and inviting. It was even bigger from closer, and his mind conjured the image of America's smile when he would set his eyes on it. He would surely love it.

The boy gritted his teeth, his brow furrowing in determination.

 _'I can't chicken out right now. Alfred wouldn't. I will get him that apple.'_

Dismissing an ominous feeling of foreboding and Kumajiro's distressed calls, the boy started sliding across the branch, slowly and carefully. He could hear the wood creaking in protest to the added weight, and the treacherous wind was tugging at his tunic and hair, making the branch sway back and forth, but Canada ignored everything and kept moving forward. He wasn't that far away, only a few inches…

The boy stretched out his arm towards the apple. His fingertips brushed against the fruit's skin. His lips pressed tightly in concentration, Canada slowly inched forward, until his fingers triumphantly closed around his prize – and right then, a deafening crack resounded from behind him, followed by Kumajiro alarmed cry.

Canada didn't even have time to realize what had happened: a moment, he had been on the branch, then he was plunging through the air, the apple still clutched in his hand.

His eyes widened and his mouth opened in a panicked scream, that was cut short as soon as his body hit the water. Canada hadn't had time to prepare himself for the impact, and it violently jarred his whole body, leaving him too dazed to react.

When the child regained his bearings, water surrounded him from every side. His lungs were burning, begging for air, but for how much he kicked and flailed his arms the current was too strong, tugging at his tunic and keeping him under as it swept him away along with the river.

With a powerful thrust, Canada managed to get his head above the water, gasping for air, but a wave hit his face, making him swallow a mouthful of cold water.

He was swept under again.

Canada trashed, desperately trying to get above to the surface, but the river was too strong for him, and each time he somehow managed to win his struggle another wave washed over him, pushing him under in an endless, nightmarish circle.

Canada was tiring rapidly. His small arms and legs ached from the effort of fighting against the current, they felt heavy as stone, and the coldness of the water certainly wasn't helping. His throat and lungs burned, they threatened to explode, but each time he opened his mouth all that he got was a mouthful of water.

He was losing the fight.

Next time he was dragged down, the child couldn't muster the strength to keep moving towards the surface. He knew he should have, he could vaguely feel his body sinking lower, but his icy limbs felt numb and heavy as stone, he couldn't even find the strength to move his arms.

He looked up as the surface grew further and further away, unreachable.

Now he _did_ understand why England had insisted so much that he stayed away from the river. Well, it was too late.

Dimly, Canada registered that his lungs were threatening to explode, searing with pain in his chest, but everything felt oddly hollow and detached. There was no way he could reach the surface, he was too weak.

The boy vaguely wondered what was going to happen. Full grown nations were immortal, but what about colonies? Was he going to die for good, or periodically be revived only to find himself at the bottom of the river and drown again?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he should be scared, but he couldn't bring himself to care, the cold and weakness numbing his body and mind.

Suddenly, he found himself thinking about America. Would his brother even notice that he was gone? Would he be sad? Probably, he was such a nice person… but he would move on quickly. He hardly ever noticed Canada, after all. The child found himself half-relieved and half-saddened at the thought. But at least, America wouldn't hurt too much, and that was what truly mattered, didn't it?

He could almost see his brother's wide, bright light blue eyes. They were getting closer, and Canada smiled at the memory. He dimly realized that there was something wrong with the picture, America shouldn't have such an anguished expression, but then Canada exhaled the last breath he had been holding to, and his lids closed.

 _'I'm dying now,'_ he realized as water filled his mouth and lungs.

He didn't fight, relaxing his body to welcome the oncoming darkness.

 **(word count: 4,411)**

* * *

 **Notes** **:**

Soo this ends here. I hope you liked it! Next chapter will be up in a few days.

I think I should explain a few things. Canada and America's age gap is canon, there was a period, before the Revolutionary War, where Canada was still a toddler while America was growing up. Specifically, I think it's chapter 180 of Hetalia World Stars, and it's the reason I refer to Canada as the younger brother.

It's completely a headcanon of mine, instead, that England hired a few women to look after his colonies' needs. They're not actually nannies, since America and Canada mostly look after themselves, their biggest role is to look after the houses (cleaning, but also cook their meals, wash their clothes…), America and Canada are free to wander as they like.

Also, about Jane: I'm sorry she's such a one-dimensional villain-ish mean lady here, but I needed an antagonist. She actually has a bit more depth than this, there is a reason behind her attitude (aside from disliking Canada for his French origins, I mean) but since everything is filtered from Canada's POV and he doesn't know anything about what happened you don't get to see it. I hope it wasn't too horrible.

I would like to add that English isn't my first language, so there might be mistakes or oddly-phrased sentences. If you spotted anything, a warning would be welcome. :)

And please let me know what you think of this story in general!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes** **:** You people are absolutely awesome, thank you so much! I posted this story on my birthday even though I had told myself I would wait a bit, but I was really happy I did, you're all so nice! I woke up to so many e-mails… Thank you, it was a wonderful birthday present!

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter too! :)

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Dying wasn't like Canada had expected. Not at all.

He had thought that his consciousness would fade slowly, peacefully, instead he felt something grab his tunic, yanking him, and a moment later his body was enveloped by a strong arm and pressed against a lean chest.

How odd. He had always imagined it to be gentler, the arm was clutching him too tightly, just shy of being painful. Not to mention the fact that it seemed to be moving _upwards_.

There was definitely something amiss there. Part of Canada wanted to open his eyes to check what was happening, he wasn't even sure he was dying anymore, but his lids were like lead, his body limp in the other's hold, and his oxygen-deprived mind was too sluggish to process anything.

Suddenly, he felt his head break the water's surface. The cold air stung against his cheeks, along with an icy hand.

Canada found himself coughing, gasping big gulps of air that hit his deprived lungs like daggers. He couldn't understand what was happening, his chest and throat ached fiercely, protesting against the cold air, the waves still hit his body and face, but the arm kept him firmly above the surface. He could have sworn that somebody was talking, but couldn't make out any word above the loud ringing in his ears, and he was too weak to open his eyes.

The person holding him suddenly stopped swimming, and Canada's body was hauled over the river's edge only to collapse on the mercifully unmoving soil.

Canada curled into a ball, coughing and shivering. He knew that he needed air, but his lungs were filled with water, he couldn't stop coughing, everything was spinning and ringing around him…

A strong arm slid under his chest and lifted him, immediately followed by a hand hitting him between his shoulder blades.

Canada gasped at the sudden pain, but he was too weak to struggle. Besides, he dimly realized that the hand was actually helping him: he was retching and coughing, pain flaring up in his chest, but his lungs were starting to empty.

After what seemed centuries, Canada could breathe again, the big gulps of air that finally filled his lungs tasted sweeter than maple syrup.

The ringing in his ears started receding, letting the child make out the voice that had been present at the corners of his auditory perception since he had been rescued.

"Mattie, Mattie, please answer me! Can you breathe? Can you hear me?"

He nodded shakily, his eyes still tightly shut, and the arm holding him relaxed slightly.

The hand stopped hitting him, and the child was turned over, both of his brother's hand holding his shoulders, the fingers digging into his flesh in a way Canada was sure would leave bruises.

A few small coughs bubbled up his throat as he tried to regularize his breaths, but he finally managed to gain control of himself. His chest and throat were burning fiercely, and his body was shaken by strong tremors, but at least he could breathe again.

Canada blinked his eyes open and found himself staring at America's face.

The older boy was completely drenched, his hair stuck to his head, water dripping in his widened eyes. He was shaking slightly, panting.

"Mattie, are you okay?!" he asked immediately, tightening his hold on Canada's shoulders.

The boy could only nod mechanically, unable to speak.

America had been the one who had saved him. America, who barely had time to do anything anymore, who should have been studying.

"Good," muttered the older boy.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep intake of breath, his hands finally loosening the death grip on Canada's shoulders.

When America opened his eyes again, they were bright with rage.

"What. Were. You. Doing," he spelt out slowly. His nostrils were quivering, his hands trembling slightly. "Why were you at the river?! Don't you know it's dangerous?!"

Canada cowered, his insides twisting with guilt. He had only wanted to do something nice for his brother… but once again, he had ended up being only a burden. His brother had had to rescue him, diving into the icy water, because he hadn't been strong enough to look after himself.

Canada swallowed, desperately trying to hold back the tears. Wordlessly, he held out the big apple still clutched in his hand. Maybe America could still appreciate it, right?

His older brother started at him uncomprehendingly, his eyes darting from Canada's pale face to the apple.

"I—it's f—for y—you," Canada stammered weakly, his voice wavering, "I—I wanted to get it for y—you. T—to make y—you h—happy… B—but it w—was s—so far away…"

America blinked and straightened slightly, taken aback.

"You mean," he said slowly, a note of bewilderment clear in his voice, "That you fell in the river because you wanted to get me an apple? That, in spite of knowing that the branch might not have held your weight, you still climbed on it to get that apple?"

Canada nodded, a seed of hope starting to blossom in his chest. Maybe America understood?

Suddenly, the boy felt a sharp pain in his hand. He instinctively clutched it to his chest, whimpering as the apple bounced three times on the ground before rolling through the grass.

"Jesus Christ, Matthew!" America swore loudly.

He was panting, his eyes burning holes in Matthew's still shaking form, the bright cornflower blue almost completely swallowed by his widened pupils. His right hand, the one he had used to hit Canada's one, was still raised, trembling.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" His brother was screaming now. "What the actual fuck, Matthew?! You could've drowned! What if your bear hadn't gotten me in time?! You could have spent _weeks_ drowning over and over before the river swept you to a bank! And where would that have left me, uhu?! Did it even cross your mind how much you would have made me worry?!"

Canada hung down his head in shame, whimpering, but America took hold of his shoulders, shaking him.

"Are you fucking retarded, Matthew?! I DON'T WANT YOUR FUCKING APPLE! I…"

America's words were cut short as a scream resounded through the clearing.

"Young master!"

America and Canada froze, turning at the same time towards the noise.

Kumajiro was running towards them, a white towel in his mouth, and after him followed Jane and Eleanor, the other maid, looking unkempt and out of breath. Both of them stopped dead, their eyes widening in shock at the sight of their drenched and shivering charges.

Kumajiro ignored them and went to Canada, nuzzling him as he tried to clumsily put the towel over him. America suddenly released Canada's shoulders, gasping as if he had been scalded, leaving the child free to bury his shaking body against his companion.

Kumajiro gently licked him.

"There, there. It's all right now, you're safe."

A strangled whimper seeped through Canada's lips as he pressed his face against the bear's fur. He could feel a lump in his throat, hot tears pressing against his eyelids, but if he focused only on Kumajiro's smell of leaves and earth he could almost pretend that everything was all right.

The relief, however, was short-lived.

A moment later, Mrs Jane recovered from the shock and took charge, ripping the towel from Canada's body to wrap it around America's still shaking form.

"Young master, you're drenched!"

The woman pressed her hands to America's cheeks, her eyes wide with concern.

"Eleanor, take him inside and draw him a warm bath, quick!"

The younger woman jumped at the command and went to America's side, gently helping him up before tugging him towards the house.

The young nation stopped after the first step, digging his heels into the ground. Wide-eyed and clutching at the towel, he turned to Mrs Jane and Canada's quivering form.

"Wait, what about…"

Mrs Jane interrupted him with a sharp wave of her hand.

"I'll take care of him. Now go, we can't have you taking ill, young master. Just think about everything you have to do, and the Master is coming to visit soon…"

America seemed to hesitate a little, his eyes lingering on Canada's form, but he finally nodded and turned to follow a fussing Eleanor.

"All right then. I'll leave him in your hands."

Mrs Jane waited until the boy's back had disappeared before turning to Canada. Her cold eyes were shining with fury, her lips pinched and her hands clenched into fists.

Canada whimpered, curling up on himself. He was cold and miserable, his chest throbbing, but the physical distress faded before America's lashing out. He had never felt that guilty and useless in his whole life.

"You…" Mrs Jane hissed, breathing through her nose. "You little, ungrateful…"

"Stop!"

Canada and Mrs Jane jumped in surprise.

Kumajiro had stepped between the woman and his owner, his teeth bared and his body tense. In spite of being only a cub, his teeth were pointed and sharp as razors, and the determined glint in his black eyes made him look anything but unthreatening.

Mrs Jane paled and took a step back, bringing her hands to her chest.

"C—call him back!" she stammered, her eyes wide. "Call back that creature!"

Kumajiro growled.

It was the first time Canada saw Mrs Jane hesitate in front of anything, and part of him couldn't help but rejoice at the sight, taking it as a revenge for all the times she had been mean to him. Not to mention how Kumajiro's willingness to defend him left a warm feeling inside the child's chest, slightly alleviating the pain of America's words.

At the same time, however, Canada couldn't hide himself from the truth that had been laid in front of his eyes: he _deserved_ that treatment. He deserved it because he was just a useless pretty thing, a burden. Because, with his selfish desire to be noticed by America, who had far more important matters to worry about, he had given nothing but troubles to the older nation.

"K—kuma, it's okay," he said softly, moving to the bear's side. "Stop growling at Mrs Jane, she isn't doing anything wrong. What I did was really stupid, and I might have even gotten Alfred hurt, so it's okay that she yells at me."

Kumajiro whirled towards him, his eyes blazing.

"Yes, it was stupid," he said haughtily, "I told you that you shouldn't get that apple. But…"

"Then leave her be," Canada cut him off.

He didn't mean to be ungrateful to Kuma, but he was exhausted and horribly cold, all he wanted was a dry change of clothes and a warm blanket. His mind felt too numb to deal with anything else.

Kumajiro harrumphed, but after a look at his owner, he moved to a side.

"You don't have to…"

Mrs Jane took her chance to quickly grab Canada's arm to drag him to the house. Her grip was too tight, her fingers digging into the child's abused skin, but he didn't let out a single sound of protest.

Kumajiro followed them, whimpering slightly in distress, but one warning look from Canada was enough to shut him up, and he finally stopped moving.

The boy gave a last, longing glance at the once red and bright apple as he was dragged away. Now it rested next to a boulder, dirty and bruised. Nobody would ever want to eat it again.

Just like nobody wanted Canada.

He didn't even feel like crying anymore. He didn't feel anything, everything was empty and dull. Just as useless as he was.

He barely listened to Mrs Jane, who kept berating him all the way to the house.

"You useless child."

"I can't believe the length you can go fishing for attention."

"How did it even cross your mind to disturb the young master like that? He doesn't have time to waste on you."

Canada let the poisonous words wash over him. He knew that Mrs Jane was right, he had come to accept it, but he still wished she would shut up. His body was numb with cold, he only wanted to sleep and forget for a moment how pathetic and useless he was.

Finally, after what seemed centuries, they reached the house.

Canada relaxed slightly, ready to sink into the embrace of a warm blanket. His feet ached and his legs were weak, threatening to collapse under his weight. The child wasn't sure he would have managed the walk back if Mrs Jane hadn't been holding his arm in a death grip.

The woman never relinquished her hold, her eyes still blazing with fury and her pale lips pinched.

"Don't think you have earned your rest now," she sneered, yanking Canada's arm to force him to walk quicker.

Only halfway through the corridor the boy realized that she wasn't taking him to his room or the bathroom.

"W—what…" he started saying, trying to talk through his chattering teeth.

Before he could complete the sentence, Mrs Jane pushed him into a small room. It was completely empty, and there wasn't a change of clothes waiting for Canada, not even a towel.

The boy turned to his caretaker, looking at her quizzically.

She was standing just outside the door, her features stony and pinched, but the glimmer in her dark eyes betrayed her anger.

"You have been a very bad child. And as such, you need a punishment."

Without any other warning, Mrs Jane slammed the door shut.

For a moment, Canada could only gape at the door, unable to realize what had just happened. This was a cruel joke, wasn't it? She would open the door and give him something to dry himself, he didn't demand anything more than a towel, but he was freezing in the cold, drenched tunic…

Only when he heard the latch slam closed Canada realized that Mrs Jane had no intention of taking him back.

With a panicked whimper, the boy flung himself at the door, pounding his little fists against the wood.

"Please, please Mrs Jane, I'll be good, don't leave me here, I'm so cold!"

"Maybe you should have thought it _before_ deciding to throw such a tantrum, don't you think so?"

The woman's voice was muffled by the door, but it still managed to convey all her contempt.

"You'll stay here until this evening. And don't try to move me with your pathetic excuses, you're an immortal being. A little cold won't do you any bad. No matter what, you can't die. You'll always stay like a child, an ignorant, stupid child while we grow old and die and wither all around you. How is this right?"

Canada stopped moving, taken aback by the woman's venomous words. Was that why she disliked him so much? But he had never asked to be immortal, he was just born that way…

"And how could even think about mocking us that way? Human children die if they fall into rivers. They grow sick and die. How did you _dare_ to use this as a way to get attention?! You knew you'd be fine. You only wanted to be coddled by your brother. Well, that's not going to happen. You'll stay here and reflect on your actions until I get you again!"

Before Canada could even think of an answer, he heard the woman's footsteps move away from the door.

Sighing, he let his weary and shivering body slide to the ground.

He was cold and miserable, his throat and chest throbbing, and he could do nothing but wait for Mrs Jane to come and get him again.

Was that what America had meant with 'take care of him'? To punish him? After all, he deserved it. He had been stupid and selfish, and that had resulted in bothering his brother. Probably, he didn't deserve to be coddled or even comforted after the fall, but it still brought a deep stab of pain in his chest.

Canada curled up on himself in an attempt to gain a bit of warmth.

He wanted to cry, but he felt like it would require too much energy.

He almost wished had drowned.

The room was completely dark around him, only a small gleam filtered through the door. Shadows seemed to swirl and move around as if to mock Canada for his situation.

The child could only dully stare at them, almost unaware of the discomfort caused by the drenched clothes stuck to his skin. He did realize it in the back of his mind, and he knew he should have tried to dry himself or move to keep his body warm, but he couldn't bring himself to shift a single muscle.

He didn't want to think about anything. His brother's eyes kept popping up in his thoughts, cold and unmerciful. Canada buried his head in his knees and pressed his hands against his ears, desperately trying to block out everything.

He couldn't have said how much time he spent in that position, the darkness of the room messed with his perception of time, and maybe he had even fallen asleep at one point, he couldn't tell, but he was sure that it was much later when he heard a set of feet stomp through the corridor.

By then, the throbbing in Canada's lungs and throat had turned into a fierce pain, he couldn't draw a full breath without dissolving in a coughing fit and the cold had seeped into his bones, becoming a permanent part of him. He couldn't even remember how being warm had felt. In addition to that, he was slightly nauseous, his stomach churning, and his nose was clogged up.

He scooted away from the door when he heard the latch being removed, looking up to his saviour.

Mrs Jane looked back at him with an unreadable expression, her eyes dark and her features tight. She looked anything but welcoming, but at that moment Canada was ready to throw himself at her feet. He was sure that he couldn't have spent another single minute inside that room.

"Th—thank you…" he tried to say, but was interrupted by a small coughing fit that left him gasping for breath, his throat and lungs burning.

"Don't try to make me feel guilty, I know you aren't truly sick!" the woman snapped, but when she took Canada's arm to drag him to his feet she was far gentler than she had been before.

It was getting dark outside, the setting sun was casting orange shadows on the pavement. Canada had spent half of the morning and most of the afternoon in the dark room.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the boy was aware that he should have been angry at the discovery, maybe even sad or scared, but he couldn't muster enough energy to feel such powerful emotions. All he wanted was to get to his room and curl up under a blissfully heavy blanket, then slide to sleep. He wouldn't have to feel anything then.

Surprisingly, Mrs Jane didn't take him to his room, instead leading him to the kitchen.

"Sit down," she said stiffly, drawing out a chair.

Too spent to complain, Canada did as he was told. The table was bare except for a spoon and a wooden bowl filled with some smoking, thick soup that cast a faint smell of vegetables.

"Eat."

Mrs Jane looked nervous, her arms were wrapped around her thin frame and one of her feet was impatiently tapping the floor.

Deciding that upsetting her wouldn't be wise, Canada focused his attention on the food. The soup felt warm, promising to heat him up from the inside, but at the same time, the smell seemed to heighten his nausea. The child suddenly realized that eating was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

However, since Mrs Jane was still looking at him, he hesitantly took a spoonful. Immediately, the food didn't settle in his stomach, he could feel it twist and churn in complain.

Canada managed a few spoonsful before he had to curl up on himself with a small moan, a hand pressed tightly against his aching stomach. To make things worse, the moan turned into another small coughing fit. It wasn't as bad as before, and Canada managed to calm it after a few moments, breathing in deeply, but that didn't help with his throbbing chest or churning stomach.

Defeated, the boy placed the spoon back on the table.

"Well? Aren't you going to eat?" retorted immediately Mrs Jane, harshly.

Without daring to look at her eyes, Canada gave a small shake of his head.

"I—I'm really sorry," he whispered feebly, "I'm not feeling well."

His faint voice sounded just as pathetic as he felt.

Mrs Jane huffed, stomping one foot on the floor.

"Don't try to fool me, I've already told you it won't work. But if you are so ungrateful that you don't want to eat, then fine: you can go to bed without supper! But don't you dare ask for some food later."

Part of Canada wanted to make her understand that he wasn't faking, that he was _truly_ feeling horrible, but a rational corner of his mind told him that she wasn't going to listen, no matter what he said. Besides, he was far too exhausted to carry on a discussion, and sleeping was exactly what he wanted.

Wordlessly, the boy slid down from his chair, clenching his teeth to prevent them from chattering.

Mrs Jane huffed again.

"Well then, we've moved to the silent treatment, haven't we? Well, fine by me. Just go to bed and don't bother me anymore."

In spite of her words, she followed Canada to his bedroom, her shoes thumping loudly on the wooden floor.

Not knowing what to do, Canada ignored her as he finally wriggled out of his still damp, cold clothes and into a fresh nightgown, shivering when the cold air hit his bare skin. Mrs Jane kept watching as he added a woollen blanket to the pile already present on his bed and finally climbed under it, curling up on himself.

"Don't you dare leave that bed until morning," Mrs Jane said in the end, "And more importantly, don't you dare go bother the young master again. You've already been enough of a disturbance today."

Her last words made a wave of guilt stir in Canada's chest. He had almost managed to forget about the disastrous chain of events that had led to the present situation, but now his mind couldn't stop going back to America's drenched face, to his trembling hands and his light blue eyes wide with rage. With his careless actions, Canada had finally managed to fully sever the frail bond between him and his brother. He could feel the tears pressing against his lids, threatening to spill over, but Mrs Jane was still at the door. He was positive she would find something harsh to say if she saw him crying, and he couldn't possibly bear another scolding.

Finally, the woman turned away from the doorway and got out of the room, slamming the door closed behind her.

Only then Canada let the tears fall. He buried his head in the pillow to muffle his silent sobs, wrapping his arms around his aching stomach.

He knew he shouldn't cry, it was only making things worse for his tingling throat and throbbing chest, cutting off his already diminished intake of air, but he couldn't stop the fat tears from rolling down his cheeks. He was pathetic, useless and sick. No wonder nobody cared for him, not when he didn't even deserve to be cared for. Even worse, he couldn't do anything to improve his situation – crying was the only mean of comfort left.

The child was so engrossed in his misery that his mind registered the shift of the mattress only when a warm muzzle nudged his cheek.

"Hey," said Kumajiro, "Stop crying. It's going to be all right."

Canada turned to the bear, blinking away the tears.

"K—kuma?" he managed to whisper between the hiccups, "When…"

"I was under the bed," the bear said as he slipped under the blankets, pressing his warm body against Canada's. "I didn't want the mean lady to see me and scold you again."

 _'Mrs Jane isn't mean,'_ Canada wanted to say, but he didn't have enough strength to utter those words. Because if he did, it meant finally admitting out loud that _he_ was the one in the wrong. The one not worthy of being loved. And Canada couldn't bear to do it in front of the only being who still cared about him, the mere thought made his airways constrict painfully.

"Thanks, Kuma," he whispered instead, curling against the blissfully warm form and burying his head in the soft fur.

The bear snuggled closer to him.

"It's okay now. There's no need to cry, you're just scared and tired. Now rest, tomorrow will be better."

Canada didn't agree – there was no way that everything would magically be fixed the following day, America was still pissed at him and he couldn't regain his affection, nor could he somehow become worthy of it – but he was too worn out to voice his doubts. He focused on Kumajiro's soothing presence, inhaling his scent and listening to the regular thumping of his heartbeat, and it wasn't long before the sobs died down, leaving him utterly exhausted, with his head aching and his chest burning. Canada felt as weak as a new-born kitten, his limbs as heavy as lead, he couldn't even fully lift his eyelids.

In spite of that, sleep didn't come as easily as he hoped. His chest burned fiercely, preventing him from drawing a full breath, and his throat felt dry and scratchy, often resulting in short coughing fits that left him breathless. The uneasiness in his stomach wasn't gone, if anything, it seemed slightly more intense, and his limbs felt heavy. The worst sensation, however, was the cold. It seemed to have seeped into his bones, and in spite of Kumajiro's warm body pressed close to his and the heavy blankets wrapped around them Canada couldn't stop shivering, he had to apply a conscious effort to keep his teeth from chattering.

Instead of sleeping, the child spent the following hours drifting in and out of a restless slumber, constantly suspended over the rim of consciousness.

At one point, he heard the sound of footsteps getting closer to his room.

He stiffened, suddenly completely awake. Luckily, Kumajiro was completely under the blankets and seemingly in a deep sleep, so hopefully, Mrs Jane wouldn't notice him… besides, he realized as the footsteps stopped in front of his bedroom, those weren't Mrs Jane's shoes. They almost sounded like…

The door was gently pushed open, through his half-closed eyes Canada saw a candle cast a faint beam of light over the floor.

"Mattie?"

America's voice was gentle, barely above a whisper.

Canada felt his heart burst at the sound. He longed to throw himself at his brother's feet and apologize over and over until everything was forgiven, but Mrs Jane words resounded clear in his mind.

 _'Don't you dare bother the young master."_

With every inch of his will, Canada forced his body to relax, his breaths to take a heavy, regular pattern. He was good at faking to be asleep, he had done so numerous time to pretend he hadn't heard words not meant for him that had been uttered before the speakers became aware of his presence.

For how much he wished to apologize, he couldn't be selfish again. He couldn't demand his brother's attention. Besides, what was he even doing there?

America hesitated a few moments at the door before stepping in, his steps slow and measured as he got closer to Canada's bed.

"Are you awake, Mattie?" he asked again, peering over the edge of the bed.

Canada didn't answer. He had come to the conclusion that America wanted to scold him again, or maybe explain why his actions had been so dangerous and why he had deserved that punishment. And for how selfish it was, he couldn't bear to see his brother's eyes cloud in rage as he looked at him. He knew he was only postponing the inevitable, but right then he was simply too drained to deal with anything.

A soft sigh seeped through America's lips.

Canada hoped he wasn't going to stay for long, his throat was starting to feel uncomfortably tight again, he couldn't restrain the coughs for long.

America shifted on his feet, then bent down and his lips brushed against the top of Canada's head.

"Sleep well."

The boy turned and got out of the room, his steps still light and careful. Canada didn't dare to move a single muscle until the footsteps faded into the distance. Only then he brought a hand to the top of his head, blinking in confusion.

 _What was that for?_

Could it mean that America wasn't angry at him anymore? Maybe the punishment had been enough. His brother was genuinely kind and helpful, after all, he didn't like to upset others. Canada knew that he didn't deserve his affection, and he was also aware that America's actions were probably dictated by a sense of duty more than real feelings, but the tightness in his chest had somehow lessened.

And at the same time, Canada couldn't help but feel guilty, for it wasn't _fair_. America shouldn't care about him, he was just a useless child. A burden. That was why everybody kept leaving him behind, and his brother had far more important things to worry about. He would only drag him down.

Smothering a coughing fit, Canada settled closer to his sleeping bear, burying his weary body against the soft fur. His head ached, and his mind was too confused to sort through all the emotions whirling inside him.

The child willed himself to stop thinking about anything and finally fell into a fitful sleep.

Sometime later, Canada jerked awake as a searing pain ripped through his stomach.

He doubled over, moaning, and in the process pushed away Kumajiro, eliciting a displeased growl, but he barely realized it. All his mind could focus on was the way his stomach was twisting and turning, pulsing in agony. He felt like he was being stabbed over and over, the knife twisting as it was embedded in his gut.

Kumajiro pressed a paw against his back.

"What's wrong?" he asked urgently, now completely awake, his voice laced with concern.

A pained whimper seeped through Canada's clenched lips. His breath was coming out in rapid gasps, and he felt hot and cold at the same time, his skin clammy and stick to the nightgown.

"Kuma…" he managed to moan through the pain, pressing his eyelids closed to prevent the tears from falling.

"What's wrong?!" the bear repeated, louder.

Canada couldn't answer. His churning stomach gave another excruciating twist, and suddenly the boy felt the acrid taste of bile to the back of his throat.

His eyes widened as he understood what was about to happen. In spite of the pain, Canada quickly scurried to edge of the bed and leaned over, retching violently.

He had hardly eaten anything at dinner and had completely skipped lunch, but for some reason his stomach couldn't stop emptying itself, accompanied by excruciating spasms. On top of that, the heaving left Canada out of breath, and the child soon found himself hacking and sputtering, unable to draw a full breath as a burning pain flared up in his chest, matching his throbbing stomach. Fat tears were rolling down the child's pasty cheeks.

And _oh God_ he had _tried_ to hit the chamber pot, but in the dark, he had ended up throwing up all over the floor, Mrs Jane was going to be so furious at him…

"Kuma…" Canada moaned feebly, his right hand blindly patting the mattress behind him as he sought his familiar's comfort.

Nothing answered him.

Canada was alone, cold and sick in a room that reeked of the foul smell of his own vomit, even Kumajiro, his most faithful companion, had left him.

Shaking with pain and dry-heaving, the child curled up on the edge of the bed and burst into tears.

 **(word count: 5,386)**

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 **Notes** **:**

Have I ever mentioned that I like sickfics? Actually, 'like' is not strong enough, I'm obsessed by them (I think it has something to do with compensating how my shy nature prevents me from demanding any kind of attention even when I actually need it, but I'm sure none of you is interested in a psychological analysis of my skewed personality) *cringes* well… I hope nobody is too disappointed.

Do you think I need to put a warning for child abuse? I don't know if what Jane did qualifies as this. It would if Canada were a human, but he's not, so she genuinely didn't think there would be physical consequences for him. I'm almost sure this is psychological abuse, however. What do you think?

Anyway, next chapter will be up in a few days. It's from America's POV, and finally there is a lot of fluff and some explanations.

I hope you have enjoyed this, please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes** **:** Thank you so much to all those who followed/favorited, and a special thanks to the people who left reviews! I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story!

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

America couldn't sleep.

He tossed and turned on the bed, tangling all the sheets around his legs, and he had tried about every position he could think of, but no matter what he did he couldn't fall asleep.

Each time he tried to close his eyes, the picture of Canada's ghostly pale, lax features as his small body slowly drifted to the bottom of the river kept popping up in his mind, as if it had been forever impressed in the back of his eyelids.

America had never been that scared in his whole life. He had realized that something was horribly wrong as soon as he had seen how frantic Kumajiro was – it wasn't typical of the cub to fuss over anything – and when he had been explained the situation… America didn't think he had ever been that close to fainting. For a moment, his vision had turned grey and he had felt his legs go weak, but he had quickly recovered, given the urgency.

When America had spotted Canada's lifeless body in the stream, it was like time had stopped. He had felt the blood pound in his ears, covering even the roaring of the water, as he had looked at the child's waxen skin, his closed eyes, unmoving limbs, the way his strawberry blond hair framed his head like a halo, fluttering in the water.

For a moment, America had thought Canada was dead.

England had told him that nations and colonies would revive if they died in accidents like that, as far as the older nation knew (that wasn't as much as America had used to think, he was starting to realize) they could only truly die at the hand of other nations, but he had also told him what a nightmarish experience coming back to life was, how he wouldn't wish it to his worst enemy.

With those words in mind, America had been so relieved when he had realized that Canada was out of danger… and so utterly spent and his mind so clouded by the powerful emotions that his relief had quickly turned into anger at his little brother's words.

America wasn't proud of what he had done then. Yes, Canada's actions _had_ been stupid and careless, but the child had to be even more scared than he was, he should have comforted him and stayed by his side, and only after they were warm and dried up confronted him about the accident. Instead, America had been so overcome by a mixture of relief, concern and rage that his body had acted before he could even realize what he was doing, and he had _slapped_ Canada's hand. He had hurt his little brother and yelled at him.

America would be eternally gratefully at Kumajiro for showing up when he had, he didn't know what he could have done otherwise. He had been so scared… but that wasn't a valid excuse, and he knew it. He was almost an adult, and it was high time for him to start behaving like one.

Recognizing that and his lack of control, he had left Canada in Jane's care, he had known the woman for a long time and she was capable and tender, but now he regretted it. He would have expected to see Canada at supper, so he could apologize to him, but Jane had told him that the child had dined earlier and was already sleeping, exhausted from the day.

America had still checked on him, but Canada had been either truly asleep or pretending to, he couldn't tell. In truth, he wouldn't have blamed his little brother for not wanting to talk to him, he had been awful. The guilt was eating at his mind, keeping him awake along with the memories of the nightmarish event.

Sighing, America turned on his back, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he should just give up and do some studying, he had been trying for hours and couldn't get a single wink of sleep.

Suddenly, the boy's ears caught a noise in the corridor – it sounded almost like muffled, hurried footsteps.

America's body tensed and the boy found himself holding his breath, all his senses alert.

 _I'm just imagining things. It's the wood creaking or something. Ghosts and monsters aren't real._

In spite of that, America slid his right hand under the pillow and closed it around the grip of the knife he kept there. He kept telling himself that he was only imagining the noise, but the weight of the weapon in his hand made him feel safer.

A sudden pawing at the door made him jump out of his skin.

America let out a little (manly. Definitely manly, not high like a child's) screech, jumping to his feet.

However, he had forgotten about the sheets tangled around his legs and ended up falling on the floor with a loud thump, managing just barely to catch himself from face-planting completely.

"Who's there?!" he called out, furiously trying to wriggle out of the sheets. "If you don't get away right now, you're gonna be sorry!"

He probably would have sounded more threatening if his voice hadn't been wavering.

America was expecting his enemy to growl or hiss or make some creepy sound, instead what he got was an annoyed huff.

"Open the door! I need help!" said Kumajiro's voice.

America, who had just managed to free himself, released the knife from his hold and stilled.

"Wait, Kuma?"

What was he doing there?

"Hurry!"

The bear's voice was laced with urgency and worry.

America swiftly got to his feet, fumbling over the nightstand to light a candle, a sudden weight in his chest. Kumajiro's appearance could only mean one thing.

 _Mattie!_

"What's wrong?" he asked grimly as soon as he got out of the door, looking at the fidgety bear.

The cub didn't bother with an answer.

"Help! Hurry!" he said again, darting through the corridor.

America immediately followed him to Canada's room.

The door had been left ajar, letting him hear a faint sobbing inside. America's heart plummeted.

 _What's wrong, Mattie?!_

The boy swiftly went to the door, tearing it open, and found himself frozen on the spot at the sight.

Canada was doubled over the edge of the bed, his small body shaking as tears streamed down his face.

Kumajiro immediately jumped on the bed and went to his side, nuzzling the child.

"Mattie!" America cried out, hurrying to set the candle on a drawer so he could give all his attention to his little brother.

Canada hardly ever cried, and when he did it was usually in a soft, almost unnoticeable way, nothing like the big, loud sobs that were bubbling up the child's throat at that moment.

As soon as he stepped into the room, America's nostrils were hit by a foul, decaying smell. _Vomit_. Was that what Canada was so upset about? America was, but hopefully, it wasn't anything too wrong, just some food that had disagreed with him.

"Hey," he said softly, stepping over the mess to get to Canada's side. "What's wrong, Mattie?"

Only then the child seemed to register his presence and lifted his head, his eyes wide and glassy.

"S—sorry," he stammered weakly, "I didn't mean to wake you up…"

He tried to compose himself, straightening up slightly, but kept his arms tightly wrapped around his stomach.

"Hey, it's no bother," America answered quickly, sitting next to the boy. "Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong? I can't fix it if you don't."

He didn't like what he was seeing, Canada's skin was pasty and clammy, and the child was holding himself like he was in pain.

In spite of his obvious discomfort, Canada bit his lower lip and kept his body tense, as if afraid to show America the full extent of whatever was ailing him. His behaviour was definitely worrisome.

"I'm not feeling very well," Canada said in the end, softly.

"Yes, I can see that," America hummed, sweeping back the child's sweaty hair.

His forehead was warm, but America couldn't tell whether to a worrying extent or not. Probably not, he was more worried by his brother's reluctance.

"B—but you don't have to bother yourself with it!" the child added hastily, almost desperately, "I…"

America scoffed, deciding to throw any subtlety out of the window. He was too worried to bother with that, and Canada was clearly in need of help.

"Mattie, you just threw up," he pointed out bluntly, "What should I do, leave you here to wallow in your misery?"

The child stiffened, then crumbled, tears streaming down his face.

"M—my tummy hurts real real bad…" he whimpered, curling up on himself and looking at America with wide, feverish eyes.

The older boy gently shushed him, one hand cupping the child's face as the other went to massage his taut stomach, drawing gentle circles. Canada relaxed slightly, leaning into Kumajiro.

America bit his lower lip as he went on with his ministrations, unsure of what to do. He wasn't new to stomach-aches, but judging from Canada's fever it wasn't caused by food, the child was ill. America had never been ill before, and he didn't know how to behave.

"Any better now?" he asked after some moments.

"A bit…" the child muttered feebly, even if his features were still tight with pain.

America frowned – he was sure that Canada was lying, but he truly didn't know how to get him to talk.

"Do you think you're about to throw up again?" he asked softly as an idea started to take shape in his mind.

Canada shook his head.

"N—not yet…"

The 'yet' part made America frown and Kumajiro whimper as he pressed himself against his owner.

However, for how pale he was Canada didn't look like he was going to throw up right then, which meant America still had some time. He didn't want to leave Canada alone, but staying in the room would mean having to clean it – the smell of vomit was too strong to be ignored, it was starting to make _America_ feel slightly nauseous, he couldn't even imagine how bad it must be for Canada. Luckily, the child's nightgown was still clean, and so were most of the blankets, which made everything easier.

America took a blanket and wrapped it around Canada's trembling frame, earning a confused look from the child.

He smiled softly at him, petting his hair before gently lifting him in his arms. Canada tensed for a moment, his eyes wide, but soon after he relaxed in America's arms, curling against his broad chest.

America tightened his hold around him. He had never realized how _little_ Canada was, he could barely feel his weight… it suddenly gave him the impression of holding a frail little bird.

"It's okay," he cooed, pressing his lips against the child's soft hair. "It's going to be okay now. I've got you."

Moving slowly to avoid jostling Canada, he adjusted the boy's weight in one arm and retrieved the candle with his free hand. The child's small arms went around his neck as he leaned his head on America's shoulder.

"I have to clean, I got the floor all dirty," he muttered, but there was no strength behind his words.

He looked half-asleep, his eyelids fluttering, as if he were straining himself to keep them open.

"Don't worry about it, Jane will do it tomorrow when she comes," America said gently, moving to the door. "Now…"

He had meant his words as a reassurance, instead Canada froze for a moment before starting to struggle weakly, trying to wriggle out of his hold.

"Mrs Jane won't like it!" he whimpered, his eyes wide, almost panicked. "She will be so angry, she'll scold me so much!"

The words were accompanied by a soft growl from Kumajiro.

America sighed tiredly, awkwardly rubbing the child's back with the arm that was holding the candle. Canada was always so afraid of upsetting his caretakers… America could understand it to an extent, he didn't like when England was angry at him, but his little brother had blown it up to a ridiculous level. And the worst was that he wasn't just being melodramatic: from his quivering lips and tear-filled, huge eyes America could see that his little brother truly believed that Jane wasn't going to forgive him for dirtying the floor. Which was preposterous, she might be a bit annoyed at having to clean, but it wasn't truly Canada's fault, why would she hold him responsible for it?

"She won't scold you, Mattie," he said patiently, "It's not like you suddenly went like 'Hey, I'm gonna hurl all over the floor so Jane will have to clean it, isn't this a wonderful idea?!' Jane's not stupid, she'll know you didn't do it on purpose. So you don't have to worry about it, 'kay?"

His words fell on deaf ears. Canada kept looking around with wide eyes, his pupils almost blown. He opened his mouth to speak, but what he got out was a fit of harsh coughs.

America yelped in surprise. He didn't waste a moment to get rid of the candle, barely registering where he put it down so he could use his free hand to pat Canada's back.

He didn't like how that cough sounded. It was fat and raspy, and even when it finally died down Canada seemed to have troubles drawing a full breath.

Not knowing what else to do, America resorted to rocking the small body back and forth, hoping that the soothing motion could give Canada some relief. The child slumped against his chest, boneless, his eyes half-closed and his skin waxen. America wasn't sure, but he almost looked paler than before.

On the floor, Kumajiro circled around his feet, whimpering in concern.

America didn't truly know what to do, he could feel a big lump filling his throat – it was wrong, Canada wasn't supposed to be so weak and tired, so clearly in pain – but at the same time, he couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

He drew a deep breath to regain control of himself.

"Kuma, go downstairs and fetch some water," he said, looking down at the bear cub to make sure he was listening to him. "Then bring it to my room, we'll be there."

The bear gave a small nod before scurrying off, his paws almost soundless against the wood.

America quickly followed him out of the room, the precious bundle held tightly in his arms. He still didn't know what to do, but one thing was sure: he wasn't going to leave Canada's side until he got better.

Thus began the longest night of America's life.

He and Kumajiro managed to coax Canada to drink some water before settling on America's bed, the child sandwiched between them. His body was burning with fever, yet Canada couldn't stop shivering. He never complained about being cold, but his chattering teeth and the way he curled around any source of warmth were a clear giveaway. America just kept adding blankets over blankets, not sure of what else to do. He was smothering under the cocoon of warmth and had to strip down to his undergarments, but even with that Canada seemed to be barely able of fending off the cold.

"I'm sorry," he still muttered feebly, "You're too hot, aren't you? Take off some blankets, I'll be fine. You don't have to worry for me."

He seemed truly panicked, his pupils were wide in his barely open eyes.

Against the child's back, Kumajiro growled softly, shifting slightly.

America gave a click of his tongue, frowning. Where was that coming from? It was almost as if Canada was afraid of receiving attention, and it made absolutely no sense. He just couldn't wrap his mind around how anybody might be unhappy with having all the attention on himself, even more when he was sick. America was certain that he would demand everybody's care if he were sick, and loudly, too. And while Canada would never be as loud as he was, there was no reason he would turn down his attention. Hadn't he been asking to play countless times?

"Stop saying this crap, Mattie," he chided him, wrapping his arms around the smaller frame. "It's fine. I'm not hot, I can take it if it makes you feel better, okay? And of course I worry for you. You're my little brother."

"But it's my fault if I'm sick," the boy whimpered, slurring the last words.

He looked as if he didn't even have enough strength to talk, and that made America's chest clench painfully, but not as bad as his words. He knew perfectly well whose fault it was for Canada's belief.

He pressed a quick kiss to the boy's hot forehead.

"Stop blaming yourself," he said softly, "Yes, you did a stupid thing, but mistakes happen, okay? And you're just a child, you're allowed to make mistakes."

A small noise of protest bubbled up Canada's throat.

"But I…"

"Mattie."

America scooted away so he could look at his little brother's face. He cupped the small chin with a hand, brushing the warm cheek with his thumb.

"Mattie, I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said softly, "I'm really, really sorry. I shouldn't have, I was horrible, and I've never been angry at you. Well, a bit, but mostly… I was so, so scared. You… you can't even imagine how scared I was. The water was so cold, and you weren't moving… I thought I had lost you, Mattie. And I can't…"

America had to stop talking to swallow around the heavy lump in his throat. Just thinking about what might have happened tightened his chest, and he could feel hot tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

America took a deep breath and refused to let them fall. He didn't want to scare Canada.

"I can't lose you, Mattie," he went on, ignoring the slight tremble of his voice. "I could never, ever deal with it. I was so scared that I couldn't think, that's why I yelled at you. You are… you are so much more important than an apple, Mattie… Yes, what you thought was nice, but I don't want any apple if it means you have to do something dangerous for it. I want _my little brother,_ not an apple. Still, I shouldn't have yelled at you, you didn't mean anything wrong. It's not your fault. And even if it were, you're still my little brother. Nothing would stop me from caring for you. It's all right now, just rest."

He wrapped his arms around the small frame, resting his chin on the top of the child's head.

The small body stiffened.

"But it's not fair…" he slurred feebly, but whatever he might have planned to add was lost in a coughing fit, and after that Canada fell silent, seemingly too spent to talk.

Not long after, the child fell into a fitful sleep, with America and Kumajiro keeping watch at his sides.

* * *

When morning came, America was utterly spent.

He hadn't had a wink of sleep, Canada had woken up five times to throw up. Thankfully, with America's help he had never missed the chamber pot, which Kumajiro had scurried off to empty and wash after each episode, but that was about where anything positive stopped.

America was beside himself with worry. Canada shouldn't be still throwing up, there was nothing left in his stomach, but he still did, and each time had been accompanied by excruciating cramps that left the child doubled over, with his features contorted in agony and tears streaming down his ghostly pale cheeks. America massaging his stomach didn't seem to help much.

After the third row, Canada had stopped apologizing over and over, which had left America overjoyed until he had realized that it was because the child was barely coherent and aware of his surroundings, his fever having spiked up horribly. Under Kumajiro's suggestion, he had spent the following hours wetting the child's forehead until the fever had abated slightly, but Canada had never fully regained consciousness.

Now, the child was slumbering, snuggled against America's left side. He could feel on his bare skin the heat radiating from the small body, the slightly unsteady rise and fall of his chest against his ribs. Canada's breaths sounded raspy and heavier than they should, and they were frequently interrupted by small coughing fits.

America sighed, his eyes focused on the glimpse of clear sky he could get from the window as his hand automatically rubbed his little brother's back. He was aware that he should try to sleep a little while he could, but the worry was keeping his mind vigil and his body tensed. Part of him wished he could fall asleep as easily as Kumajiro, but he knew that his perceptions weren't as acute as the bear's, so he might not wake up if something changed with Canada, and leaving the child to fend for himself was the last thing he wanted.

Still, he desperately wished he could at least stop thinking, or wake up the bear to have somebody to talk to so that he could stop mulling over his little brother's situation. The rational part of his mind, with a voice that sounded oddly like England's, told him that there was nothing to worry about: while America himself had never been ill, he knew that nations could catch human illnesses, but they wouldn't die for it. All he needed to do was wait, and Canada would recover on his own.

In spite of that, America wasn't satisfied. The problem wasn't whether Canada was going to recover or not, the problem was that he was suffering _now_. And America didn't want him to suffer. Each time the child whimpered in pain, a knife sunk a little deeper into his chest, a weight plummeted in his stomach. He would give _anything_ for Canada to stop suffering… instead, there was nothing he could do.

America wanted to tear out his hair and scream in frustration, the only thing stopping him the knowledge that hearing that would have scared Canada.

When America heard the thump of footsteps approaching his door, he was about to cry from relief.

A moment later, a hand knocked gently on the wood.

"Young master, it's time to get up," said Jane, "There's breakfast waiting for you downstairs."

"Wait!" America called her, straightening up slightly.

Some of the blankets pooled at his waist. The movement seemed to jostle Canada awake, eliciting a small groan from the child's throat as he shifted. America felt a little guilty for waking him up, but it was important.

"Can you come in? I need some help!"

"Of course," Mrs Jane answered immediately, the door already opening. "What is it that you n—"

The woman stopped dead, paling, her eyes widening as she took in the mess on America's bed – more specifically, Canada's form curled against his side.

For a moment she could only gape at the child, astonishment written in every feature of her face.

"What…" she muttered as she started regaining her bearings, her pupils still dilatated.

"Uhm, yes, this is what I was talking about," America said quickly, running a hand through his hair. "See, Mattie was sick last night and…"

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Mrs Jane shrill shout made America start, and jerked awake both Canada and Kumajiro. The bear immediately started growling softly, while the child whimpered, struggling to open his lidded eyes as he coughed slightly.

America immediately wrapped him in his arms, running a hand through his hair to soothe him, his eyes still trained on Jane's face. The woman's grey eyes were blazing with fury, her thin lips bloodless.

"I'm sorry!" America squealed, unconsciously holding Canada closer. "Did I do something wrong? Something I wasn't supposed to do?"

His mind was racing, trying to understand which of his actions had elicited such a fury from the woman. He didn't have the slightest idea of how to deal with an illness, after all, what if with his clumsy ministrations he had inadvertently made something worse?

Jane's demeanour, however, softened immediately at his uneasiness.

"Oh, no, you didn't do anything wrong, young master," she said gently, her features relaxing as she looked at his widened eyes.

America's heartbeat had just started slowing down when the woman's eyebrows tightened again.

"But _you,_ " she sneered, " _You_. How do you _dare_ , after all my warnings, how could you even possibly think…"

The woman had to stop to take a breath, her hands were tightly clenched into fists, trembling slightly.

Only when Canada whimpered against his chest America realized _who_ those words were directed to. Suddenly, the way Kumajiro had been growling beside him made a lot more sense.

"Hey, stop!" America said, sitting up fully as he protectively tightened his hold on Canada, still not understand what was going on. "Why are you scolding Mattie? He didn't do anything wrong!"

Jane offered him a pitying look.

"Oh, young master, you're always so kind…"

For a moment America thought that she had managed to compose herself, but when the woman spoke again her voice was colder than ice.

"But I had made myself clear with this _little pest_ yesterday: he wasn't to bother you. I'd never thought he could be so bold, instead here he is, sneaking into your bed, and going so far as…"

"But that's not what happened!" America interrupted her, desperately trying to comprehend how could she possibly have misunderstood the situation. "Not at all! I…"

Canada shifted in his lap, turning to face Jane. Tears were glistening at the corners of his huge eyes, his lips were quivering.

"S—sorry…" he stammered as his eyes focused on Jane. "I—I'm very sorry, I—I didn't mean to…"

The woman stomped a foot on the ground. She looked _furious_.

"Don't apologize, you ungrateful brat! Do you really think it would change anything?! I _told_ you…"

"Stop!"

America still didn't have the slightest idea of what was going on, but Canada was trembling against him, panicked. Besides, whatever reason Jane might have to be angry at him, nothing justified that kind of verbal abuse. _Nothing_. The fact that Canada was too sweet to even think about retorting only made things worse.

"Stop. This. Right. Now," America enunciated slowly, glaring at Jane.

The woman froze with her hands raised, taken aback. America knew that she had never seen him as anything but a cheerful child, but she couldn't be further from the truth. She might have forgotten, but he was actually an immortal being, more powerful than she could ever imagine, and no longer a naïve child. And Canada was his little brother. It was high time for Jane to realize that.

Certain that the woman wasn't going to disobey his command, America turned to the child in his lap. Canada was sniffling, trying to hold back the tears, his eyes huge, his body trembling.

America ran a hand through his hair before lifting the child into his arms, cradling him to his chest.

"It's all right," he murmured gently, kissing his forehead. "Everything is all right. You didn't do anything wrong, I'll sort this out. Don't worry about anything, I've got you."

The sniffles turned into muffled sobs as Canada buried his head against America's collarbone, his tears dampening the older boy's skin.

"Young master…"

Jane's voice was much calmer now, but in a forced way, devoid of any emotion.

America's attention snapped back to her, his features tightening. He suddenly realised that he didn't even want to hear what she had to say. Canada was already sick and miserable, yet she had yelled at him without any regard to how he was feeling. She had made him _cry_. And that. Was. _Unforgivable_.

America remembered how she had looked like, a long time before, young, with her skin clear and her eyes sparkling, her mouth always ready to curl in a slight smile. Stern, but also tender and caring.

The woman in front of him was nothing but a pale ghost of the girl she had been, a twisted mockery. The once fine features were warped by rage, her tightly bound hair was streaked with grey, her skin frail, and contempt had turned her eyes dull. America could barely recognize her. She was still her, and at the same time a completely different person. The Jane he had once known would have never mistreated a child that way.

Still, the hateful creature went on talking.

"Young master, I understand why you're upset, but he's _faking_ it. Can't you see? He's just doing all this for attention. Like yesterday. He even threw himself into a river to get your attention!"

"I didn't," Canada muttered feebly against his chest, still sobbing. "Please, I didn't. I didn't mean to, please…"

Kumajiro bared his teeth, growling.

America could feel the blood pounding in his ears, boiling with rage, in tune with his thundering heart.

Unaware of the perturbation, Jane kept spewing her poisonous words.

"He has been doing this the whole time. Yesterday he pretended he was sick, too, but he can't be. It's just a bit of cold water, and he's not a real child. Unlike a human child, he won't get sick for it. Besides, he comes from the North, doesn't he? He should be used to the cold. Instead, he mocks the way human children suffer with this pathetic play."

America's eyes widened at her words, he felt his blood run cold.

"Are you saying…" he hissed, his voice trembling with rage, "Are you saying that you knew that he was sick, and you didn't do anything?! You left him alone in his room, without even telling me, knowing that he was sick?!"

He clutched the child protectively to his chest, a hand to the back of his head so that he couldn't turn to look at Jane.

Kumajiro growled again, but the woman ignored him.

"But he wasn't sick, young master," she retorted slowly, as if she were talking to a stubborn child. "He's just pretending. Besides, he can't get sick for so little."

A corner of America's mind realized that there was a kernel of truth in her words: it was highly unusual for a nation to get sick only for falling in a cold river. Besides, in spite of being only a colony, Canada belonged to the North, he shouldn't be bothered by the cold. The fact that he was so ill was definitely worrisome, but America archived the issue for a second moment. Right then, there was something far more important he had to worry about.

"Can't you use your eyes?" he said coldly, "He's clearly sick, for how strange it might be. Don't…"

"It's not strange!" Kumajiro chimed in, startling America.

The bear's dark eyes were blazing with fury, his teeth bared.

"Kuma, no!" Canada whimpered in a panicked way, shifting in America's arms, but the bear ignored him.

"He's sick because she left him in the dark room, in the cold, when he was still wet! That's too much even for him!"

America felt like a ton of bricks had been slammed against his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. His ears were ringing, his head spinning.

For a moment, everything stood still.

Mrs Jane seemed frozen in her position, her eyes widened, her face devoid of any colour.

"You… you told me you would take care of him…" America stammered in the end, his trembling voice gaining strength with each word. "I _trusted_ you with him! And… and… you left him all alone, without even a change of clothes, in a cold room?!"

He searched the woman's face, hoping to find a sign that it wasn't true, that everything was a huge misunderstanding, for it couldn't be true, she had always been so nice, she wouldn't have…

But Canada was crying softly against his collarbone, his body shaking, clearly scared, and Kumajiro was still growling at the woman, his black eyes gleaming fiercely with a glint of satisfaction.

It was true. Everything was true.

Jane didn't try to defend herself, her features pale but set in determination.

"He _deserved_ it," she said smugly, locking eyes with America. "He deserved it because…"

But America had had enough.

"Get out," he hissed. "Get. Out. Right. Now."

His mind was screaming for revenge, his thundering heartbeats drowning out any rational thought. He wanted to leap at the woman and shake her like a rag doll until she apologized – until she made everything right again.

But he couldn't.

Canada was still trembling in his arms, he needed to be comforted, and he couldn't just hurt a woman.

Using every inch of his will, America closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Get out," he said again, his voice forcefully calm. "I don't want to see your face ever again. Get. Out."

He buried his head in Canada's hair, inhaling its flowery scent, trying to focus on the feeling of the warm weight in his arms.

He didn't dare to raise his head until he heard quick footsteps retreating from the room, leaving the door open. He didn't know what he would do to Jane if he saw her still in the room – and he didn't even want to think about it.

Only after he was sure she was gone he moved, laying Canada on the pillows so he could look at him in the eyes. Kumajiro jumped back on the bed and curled around his owner, licking one of his hands.

The child was trembling, his eyes huge and desperate, fat tears were streaming down his cheeks.

America cupped his chin and gently dried them with his thumb.

"Oh, Mattie…" he whispered softly.

Millions of thoughts were swirling in his mind, he wanted _answers,_ he still couldn't fully understand what was going on, why, why would Jane – _anybody_ – want to hurt Canada – his precious, sweet little brother – _how_ could anybody ever think about harming him in any way… but he couldn't focus on any of that.

He could feel the heat radiating from Canada's skin, could see the way his cheeks were flushed on his otherwise milky white skin. The child was still sick and in need of cares.

But before that, he was in desperate need of comfort.

America didn't have the slightest idea of what to do, and he was alone now.

 **(word count: 5,751)**

* * *

 **Notes** **:**

I hope that this was fluffy enough! This story isn't finished though, there are still a few chapters (I think 2 or 3). I posted this chapter in advance because I'm going to be busy over the next few days, but the next chapter isn't even half-way done, so you might have to wait a bit for that. I apologize in advance.

Anyway, I hope that you have enjoyed this, please review!

 **Answer to the guest review:** I think that Hetalia is awfully complicated to follow unless you've been in the fandom since it started. For example, I started watching it last year, and while I'm reading new strips I haven't still read all the old ones, there are simply too many… besides, Himaruya isn't even always that consistent, he has written stories that contradicted each other. About older colonies helping with younger ones, like we've seen with India and later even Canada with Australia, I don't think it was a full-time thing, just some occasional visits… I made it different for Canada and America, though, because they share a border. In my headcanon, England kept there together in a house that was in America, but very close to the border. I hope this makes sense.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes** **:** You people are so wonderful! I wasn't expecting so many reviews, and also the follows and favorites, you have no idea of how happy you made me! Thank you so much!

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

America hadn't wanted to punish him.

America hadn't even known that Mrs Jane had punished him.

America had told Mrs Jane off. He had _sent her away_.

America still _cared_.

And Canada couldn't stop crying. He knew that he had actually deserved what Mrs Jane had done to him, but America _didn't think so_. And neither did Kuma.

Canada wanted so badly to believe them, to believe that he was _worthy_ of all that attention he was being showered with… why did they still care for him? Wasn't he useless?

But his older brother had been so tender and attentive in taking care of him up to that moment, his touch so comforting…

Everything ached, his mind was a confused mess of dizziness and headache, and his vision blurred from the tears, Canada didn't know what to think anymore, but there were still two things that kept him anchored to reality. Kumajiro's solid, warm weight curled around him, and America's hand cupping his face.

"Mattie." His older brother kept repeating his name like a mantra. "Oh, Mattie."

He looked heartbroken, his bright blue eyes widened and his forehead creased.

Canada wanted to comfort him, but couldn't stop the tears from streaming down his face.

"S—sorry," he hiccupped, "I—I'm s—sorry…"

 _For the apple. For not being as useful as I could. For making you worry. For causing you troubles._

He didn't need to go on.

A small wail seeped through America's lips, and suddenly Canada found himself enveloped in a bone-crushing hug.

"It's okay," America said, rubbing his back. "I'm sorry, Mattie. I'm so sorry that you had to go through this… but it's going to be all right, I promise. I'm here. Just let it out."

And Canada did.

He cried against America's chest as the older boy hugged him so tightly that he could barely breathe, gently rocking back and forth. Canada knew that he didn't deserve it, but it was just so _good_ … America's body was strong and solid, so incredibly _safe_ , his gentle hands and soothing words, along with Kumajiro clumsy touches, reminded him that despite his uselessness, he wasn't alone. There were still people who cared for him.

Canada let himself shatter. He didn't know what to think anymore, everything was a blurred mass of hurt and confusion, he wanted so badly to be loved but he didn't deserve it, and at the same time, he wished so much that he could deserve it…

Canada cried until he didn't have any more strength to do so, and his heavy body collapsed in America's arms. He felt utterly spent, too weak to move a single muscle, so raw and fragile that he was sure that he was going to shatter at a mere touch… but it was all right, for America's strong hands supported him.

"It's going to be all right," his brother was whispering in his hair, rocking his small body. "I'm here. Everything's all right."

Canada wanted to answer him somehow, to voice out how much he appreciated that comfort, but as soon as he opened his mouth he felt an excruciating spasm grip his stomach, the bile rising to the back of his throat.

He moaned pitifully, pressing his hands to his stomach, and America's eyes widened in understanding.

"Kuma, pot!" he said hurriedly, and a moment later the chamber pot was in front of Canada.

It was none too soon, the child immediately started retching and gagging inside it, his insides twisting and pulsing with agony.

Over the course of the night, he had come to the conclusion that he _loathed_ throwing up above anything else. His eyes swelled with tears as he desperately fought to breathe through the pulsing pain and the dry-heaves, action not helped by the way his chest felt heavy and tight, pressing against his lungs.

In a corner of his mind, Canada became vaguely aware that it was much worse than the previous night, his stomach was mostly the same, but his throat was burning fiercely, and the searing pain in his chest was preventing his lungs from expanding fully.

And at the same time, it was infinitely better. One of his brother's hands was sweeping back his hair as the other rubbed his back, soothing and solid, and Kumajiro's warm body was pressed against his side, whimpering softly in participation. America was murmuring sweet words that Canada couldn't make out, but his tone was so tender and soft that they almost made up for the pain the child was going through.

When his stomach finally settled, Canada flopped in America's arms, still breathing shallowly, so drained that even keeping his eyes open seemed a task far above his strength. He melted into America's embrace as the older nation gently cradled him to his chest.

Canada let out a small whimper of protest when his brothers laid him down among the pillows, but the hand was immediately back, tenderly wiping his face with a damp cloth.

"Mattie? Are you still with me?"

His brother's voice was soft and full of concern, so Canada forced himself to lift his heavy lids.

"Mmhh…" he muttered feebly in assent, coughing.

He dimly realized that breathing was much harder than it should have been, he had never realized how many muscles were involved in such a simple action, but now they had all decided to make themselves heard, refusing to work properly.

America's hands were around him again, gently lifting his head and pressing a bowl to his lips. Canada gratefully drank the cool water. It helped him get rid of the foul taste of vomit, as well as alleviating slightly the burning in his throat.

"Do you need anything, Mattie?" America asked as he put him down again, his hand never leaving his face.

Canada shook his head, trying to smile at his brother's blurred face.

There were so many things he would have needed – blankets, he was shivering in the light nightgown and maybe some more water? He wasn't sure, but his throat felt scratchy and his mouth strange, papery, maybe water would help – but he couldn't concentrate on anything past his brother's soothing presence.

"Stay, please," he muttered feebly.

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them, suddenly remembering that America had more important things to worry about, he shouldn't bother him… however, his brother's features softened, a tender smile giving light to his face.

"Of course. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Was the sudden warmth that blossomed in Canada's chest at those words a bad thing? Did it mean that he was selfish? Probably, but Canada was too drained to care or think about it properly. All he could focus on was the way his brother's fingers were stroking his cheek, the touch soft and tender. It was one of the best feelings Canada had ever experienced.

The boy was almost asleep when Kumajiro's got back to the room, startling him awake with a jolt as he bumped something heavy against the bed.

"Woah there little guy, careful!" said America, bending down. "How many things did you bring?"

The teen straightened on the bed, a basket in his hands.

"Wow, food!" he exclaimed in delight, uncovering what from Canada's perspective looked like a piece of cake. "Feel like eating, Mattie?"

The child's stomach twisted at the mere thought. He shook his head, greening a little.

"He's been throwing up till now," Kumajiro pointed out bluntly as he climbed on the mattress. "It's for you. You can't take care of him if you don't take care of yourself."

America blinked in surprise, taken aback.

"Well, thanks," he muttered, shoving a huge bite of cake in his mouth.

Canada had to turn his head. Thankfully, his nose was too clogged up to smell the food, but the sight made his stomach clench painfully.

Kumajiro curled next to him, pressing his warm fur against his body.

"Are you still cold?"

It was America was answered, his mouth still full.

"Oh, right!"

He took some blankets and wrapped them tightly around Canada's body, frowning slightly when a small cough bubbled up the child's throat.

"Do you need anything?" he asked again, pressing a hand against his forehead. "Crap, you're really burning up… How are you feeling? Is there anything in particular that feels wrong?"

Canada could have given him a full list of symptoms – how his chest felt heavy and tight, throbbing, how his throat was burning and itchy, how his limbs felt weak, enveloped by a dull pain – but he didn't want to see the creases of America's forehead deepen.

"I'm tired," he muttered feebly, blinking to clear his slightly blurry vision.

His brother sighed.

"Yeah," he muttered, "You probably need some more rest to recover, right? Okay then, just sleep."

America took another blanket – and surprisingly, he wrapped it around both of them as he lay down next to him.

Canada let his body relax in his hold, focusing on the feeling of the strong arms enveloping him and Kumajiro's warm form pressed against his side. Everything hurt, but he had hardly ever felt that safe.

He was almost asleep when he felt his brother take a deep breath, his body tensing.

"Mattie?"

America's voice wavered a little, uncertain.

"Yes?" Canada mumbled, trying to shake himself awake.

He managed just barely, he still couldn't fully open his eyelids.

Unexpectedly, America tightened his hold on him, burying his head in his hair. Canada was surprised to realize that the older colony was trembling slightly.

"Mattie I'm so sorry," he said, a hint of despair in his voice, "I would have never, ever thought that Jane could do something like that. I thought she was going to look after you! That's why I left you with her. I wouldn't have if I had any clue that she was like that. I… I don't really understand why she did it, really. She had always been so nice…"

 _'To you'_ Canada thought. He had seen the way Mrs Jane looked at America. Like he was her own son. At the same time, he didn't want to upset his brother any further, so he didn't mention how he had known perfectly well that Mrs Jane wouldn't be nice to _him_ – that she had never been.

Kumajiro shifted behind him.

Before Canada could realize what he was about to do, he had started talking.

"She has always been mean," the bear said as-a-matter-of-factly.

Canada squealed as America's body tensed.

"Kuma!" he protested weakly, but his brother's arms prevented him from turning to silence the bear.

"What do you mean?" America asked, his voice serious.

"Nothing!" Canada said quickly, panicky, but his brother shushed him, pressing his lips against his hair.

"She was always mean to him," Kumajiro went on bluntly. "She had never actually done anything truly _bad_ until now, she always gave him food and washed his clothes and blankets and did what she was supposed to do, but she never hid that she wasn't happy about it, she was always cold and stern. She told him he was stupid when he spoke French, that he was a savage. She always scolded him for everything. Nothing was good enough for her. And she told him he was useless and a bother."

When Canada timidly raised his head to look at his brother, America's expression was something between horrified and heartbroken.

Canada wanted to tell him that it was all right, but it wasn't. And he was too tired, he couldn't find it in himself to lie convincingly.

"Why… why didn't you ever tell?" America asked, his voice wavering.

Canada shrugged.

Why hadn't he, indeed? It had never occurred him that he could. He had always thought that he could stand it, he didn't even see Mrs Jane that often. But her words had still hurt.

"I didn't want to bother anybody," he admitted in the end, lowering his head. "Mr England got her to take care of the house, and she's good at it. I didn't want him to have to look for somebody else."

America sighed.

"Oh, Mattie…" he whispered, holding the child closer to his chest. "Mattie, I remember when Arthur got Jane. She was really young, now that I think about it. Must have been around 15 or 16, but I couldn't tell at the time. And… first thing, he introduced me to her. Even if her main purpose wasn't to take care of me, he made sure that she would treat me nicely."

Canada raised his head. He wasn't actually surprised, England loved America above anything else, after all. He would make sure that nobody was going to hurt him, but Canada wasn't the same as America.

"He must have thought that she would be the same with you," America went on, "I mean… she had always been so good with me, and she liked children…"

The boy stopped for a moment, his brow slightly furrowing.

"Now that I think about it… she even had a child of her own, at one point. I didn't see him much, though, just a few times. He was such a sweet little thing, so shy… kinda like you, you know. But England said that I wasn't allowed near him, because human children are frail and I wouldn't be careful enough. I think that's why Jane left for a while… And there was another lady cooking. Her name was Sarah or something. She didn't cook as well as Jane, and I don't think I ever interacted with her much. Jane got back about when Arthur brought you here, I think. I never saw her son again, though. He must have grown up… you know, humans grow up awfully fast. Maybe he married and got children of his own… I still don't understand why she wouldn't like you, though. Maybe she got crazy? She has gotten pretty old, after all."

Canada frowned. America had never been good at guessing human ages, and he was sure that Mrs Jane wasn't that old… tired, yes, but not old enough to have an adult son. And not old enough to go crazy.

He was too tired to voice out his reasoning, however. Besides, something else, much more important than Mrs Jane supposed age or mental decline, had started worming its way into his mind.

"Will Mr England be angry?" he asked shakily.

He wasn't sure, but he kind of remembered something about him having to visit soon or something like that.

"Very angry," America answered immediately, his voice laced with certainty, colder.

Canada felt the lump in his throat grow so big that he could barely breathe through it. If England hadn't liked him before, he couldn't even imagine how he would react now, after all the troubles he had caused…

A strangled sob bubbled up his throat as he felt his eyes fill with tears again.

"I'm sorry…"

Kumajiro huffed as America gasped, running a hand through Canada's hair.

"Not at you!" he amended hastily, "He won't be angry at you, that's not what I meant! I was talking about Jane! He's going to be furious at her… Maybe even throw her in prison, or something. I don't know."

America's body suddenly tensed, Canada felt him take a deep breath before he started talking again.

"And if he's not angry… then I'll deal with it. I won't forgive him if he doesn't punish her, she can't just get away with nothing after this."

Canada didn't know how to answer at that. The coldness in America's voice scared him, it hinted at something brutal and merciless that shouldn't be uncovered… and at the same time, he felt himself melt at the fierce protectiveness in his brother's tone. His brother loved him… but Canada couldn't still understand why.

Why did America love him when everybody else didn't? Who was in the wrong? He couldn't tell, and he was too drained and physically sick to mull over it.

"Don't be angry," he slurred, coughing as he buried his head against his brother's strong chest. "It's not worth it."

"But _you_ are, Mattie," he could have sworn he had heard his brother say, but at that moment his weary body lost the battle against unconsciousness.

After that, everything got blurry for Canada, fragmented sensations of voices and gentle touches blended in his feverish mind as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

His stomach cramped horribly, he had to throw up at least another time, maybe more, but he couldn't tell whether it was real or just a dream. In spite of the pain, America's strong hands were always over him, safe and comforting. They stroked his hair and face, pressed a cool cloth to his burning skin, poured water into his dry mouth.

Most of the time, a voice was talking. Canada couldn't make out any word, but the intonation was tender and soothing, and he let himself be lulled to sleep.

He woke up sometime later, in a fit of coughs. Everything hurt, and he couldn't breathe, his chest felt heavy and tight, preventing his lungs from working properly.

He couldn't stop coughing, everything felt blurry and confused, his ears ringing, his lungs were desperately begging for air but he just _couldn't stop_ , he was crying, and he _knew_ that he should stop because it wasn't helping a _t all_ , but he couldn't…

A pair of strong hands lifted him, and Canada found himself in a sitting position, leaning against a lean chest – his brother's, he realized in a corner of his mind – as a hand rubbed his back.

He could faintly hear America's voice and Kumajiro's whimpers, they sounded frantic, but Canada couldn't make out anything beyond the roaring in his ears.

Just when he thought he was about to faint from the lack of air, his coughs started subsiding, turning into raspy gasps. He still wasn't getting as much air as he would have liked, and his chest seared with pain with each expansion, but it was better than nothing.

America's hand cupped his chin, then slid to his cheek, brushing away the tears.

"It's all right, Mattie," Canada could hear him say now, "It's all right. You're going to be okay, just try to calm down. Breathe in, deep and slow. Just like me."

America took the child's hand and pressed it against his own chest. Canada could feel it rise and fall slowly, in a regular motion.

Trying to calm down the sniffles, he forced himself to focus only on the calming movement and gradually managed to copy it. His lungs still refused to fill fully, and his chest ached fiercely, but America's soothing hand on his back, united with Kumajiro's gentle touches, slowly calmed him down.

"Yes, just like this," America cooed, "You're doing good. Keep this up, you'll feel better soon."

"Alfie?" Canada whimpered feebly, struggling to lift his lids.

The herculean effort was met with his brother's warm – albeit slightly blurred – smile.

Canada dimly realized that his body was completely supported by his brother's, too weak and heavy to sit on his own. He couldn't even keep his hand raised, it flopped down when America released his hold.

It was scary _–_ it would have been _terrifying_ , but his brother's hold on him felt firm.

"Hey," said America, pressing a hand to his forehead and smoothing back his hair. "Hey, Mattie. I'm glad to see you're finally awake. You were giving me quite a scare…"

The tenderness in his voice couldn't completely hide a slight wavering.

"Sorry," Canada mumbled automatically.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a glimmer of guilt, but he was too drained and groggy to process it properly.

"Oh, Mattie, there's nothing to apologize for," his brother retorted, his eyes sad.

There was something wrong in his voice, it was softer than Canada remembered, but it wasn't only that – there was something else. Something he couldn't place.

Canada blinked, trying to bring his surrounding into focus, and suddenly it dawned on him – it was daytime. He couldn't tell whether it was morning or afternoon, but the sunlight was filtering through the window.

And daylight meant one thing: America had to study.

"How are you feeling?" the older nation asked softly, but Canada didn't answer, his eyes widening.

"Sorry!" he managed to grind out, "I'm so, so sorry, you don't have to stay, I'm sorry…"

His words were cut short by a small coughing fit.

"Mattie!" America cried out in alarm, patting his back. "Mattie, no! Don't apologize, it's all right! I want to be here!"

Kumajiro whimpered in concern, licking his hand.

But Canada was having nothing of it.

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed, his eyes swelling with tears. "You have to study, I know you don't have time, I'm sorry I know you shouldn't be losing time, I'm so so sorry please go I don't want to make you waste more time…"

His brother tightened his hold on him, rocking his body back and forth.

"Mattie, stop! It's all right, you don't have to worry, I don't have to study or anything, you just…"

Canada kept sobbing in distress when the words failed him. His ears were starting to ring again as his heartbeat quickened, his head spun and he wasn't getting enough air, but there was one certainty in his delirious mind: he was inconveniencing his brother.

And he couldn't inconvenience his brother, because he was nice but nobody liked burdens, he was going to grow tired of him sooner or later, and Canada just couldn't…

His brother's voice kept calling him, along with Kumajiro's, but Canada had no time to answer them before his body succumbed to darkness.

* * *

Canada had stopped throwing up over the course of the morning. Which was good.

His breathing, however, had gotten increasingly worse, it was shallow and raspy, the air producing a small whistle each time it entered his lungs. Which wasn't good.

To make things worse, Canada's fever had been steadily rising. Now the child was burning up horribly, with his skin damp with sweat. A permanent flush had taken residence over his cheekbones, but the rest of his skin and his usually rosy lips had turned to a grey pallor.

When Canada had woken up, America had been ready to fall to his knees and praise every known and unknown deity, but that had been before the child had started talking. Before it had become painfully apparent how not coherent he was.

It was like the previous night all over again – but worse, for Canada's already boneless body suddenly went completely limp in his arms as his eyes rolled back in his head.

America cried out, dropping any pretence of calm as he shook the child's body.

"Mattie?! Mattie!"

A small moan seeped through the child's lips, but he didn't wake.

"Stop!" said Kumajiro, "You aren't helping like that!"

He didn't sound any calmer than America, but he _was_ right. The young nation stilled, closing his eyes and forcing himself to take a deep breath to calm down his racing heart.

With utmost care, he laid his brother's body on the pillows and wrapped the blankets tightly around him.

"What should we do, Kuma?" he asked without turning.

His eyes couldn't leave his brother's face. He was so small, so frail… America had been like that until not long before, but he had never realized just how _little_ he had been. It was frightening, that a creature could be so defenceless.

Kumajiro slid under his owner's head, pushing him in a slightly elevated position as he wrapped himself around the child's shoulders.

"Bring down his fever, like you were doing before."

America hurried to take the cloth from the bowl and wring it before placing it on Canada's too hot forehead.

It hadn't helped much over the last hours, however, and it did nothing to ease the child's wheezing.

Was there truly nothing he could do? He was sure that there were plenty of things, but he didn't know anything. He had never given too much attention to human medicines and remedies, in his arrogant certainty that he would never need them. How foolish he had been… he remembered all the times England had tried to make him read a medical book, how he had dismissed him each time.

The thought of his older brother brought a sudden pang of pain to America's chest. He surely would have known what to do… America desperately wished that he could be there at that moment, but there was no way to call England. He _was_ supposed to visit soon, but soon was a relative term in the vocabulary of a nation. He could mean in a day as well as the next month.

And Canada didn't have a month. He had only America, who was becoming painfully aware that he was still far from being the collected and mature adult he had fancied himself to be. And he so desperately wished that he could have a _real_ adult by his side…

But there was only him, and he would have to be enough. Wallowing in his inadequacy wasn't going to heal Canada.

"Hey, Kuma, Canada was sick once before, wasn't he?" he remembered suddenly.

That had been just after England had gotten him from France. England had been late in coming back to America, the colony recalled being so angry, yelling at him to mask the fear of having been forgotten.

Then England had explained that it was because Canada had been sick, too weak to travel, so they had had to wait for a bit before leaving. America had barely registered his words at the time, but now they came back to his mind with a pang of guilt. Canada had just been sick, left behind by his previous caretaker, and America had dismissed him after few minutes…

He shook his head, trying to compose himself.

"What did England do, Kuma?" he asked.

The bear tilted his head, frowning.

"I don't know. He made him stay in bed, he would wet his forehead. And he gave him something to drink that tasted bad, but it was supposed to make him feel better. And he sang to him and told him a lot of stories."

"Oh…"

Of course, a medicine. A medicine had to be the answer, but America had no idea of where to get it.

"But that time was different," Kumajiro went on, "He was sick because there had been a war, and his land had been ceded from France to England. It's quite a big change to get used to. It was Canada that was sick, not Matthew."

America's fingers brushed Canada's heated cheek. The child didn't answer, he would have looked asleep if not for his shallow and laboured breaths.

Was a colony supposed to get that sick? Would he truly recover on his own?

"Are you sure that there's nothing wrong with Canada, though?" America asked, running his fingers through the child's sweaty hair.

Kumajiro huffed.

"There's nothing wrong. This is only Matthew being sick. I would have felt it if it were."

America sighed.

"Yeah, sorry. I just…" he trailed off, unsure of what to add.

 _I'm so worried. He's not supposed to be this sick. What if he doesn't recover?_

He was only a colony, after all. Being a colony wasn't the same as being an adult nation, they were frailer. What if there was something truly wrong with Canada?

"I'm worried too," Kumajiro admitted, his eyes unusually wide, "But he's strong. He's going to be all right."

 _'Strong'_ wasn't the word America would have used to describe his little brother at that moment. He looked tiny, smothered in that cocoon of blankets, in the middle of America's mattress. So vulnerable, with his milky white skin and laboured breaths.

Yet, America understood what Kumajiro was trying to tell him. Canada, his sweet, sensitive little brother, had withstood years of verbal abuse without telling a soul. He had been able of ignoring the harsh words without complaining a single time.

That alone took an incredible amount of strength, one that America himself didn't know if he had. Scratch that, he was sure he would have jumped and wreaked havoc at the first insult.

Canada was a survivor.

And in spite of that, his coping method was everything but healthy.

"Has he always been like that?" America wondered out loud, looking at his brother's pale face.

He recalled his frantic words of a few minutes earlier.

"Why was he so afraid of bothering me? I'm his older brother, taking care of him is part of my duty. And England's, too. Why doesn't he want to trouble us?"

Kumajiro tilted his head to a side.

"It's not my place to tell," he said, turning to give a gentle nudge to his owner's cheek. "But I think you and England should talk to him once he's better."

America nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He had sort of hoped that it was a one-time thing, brought around by Canada's sickness, but Kumajiro's words let him understand that it was Canada's constant mindset.

How had he not noticed before? Was he so blind before his little brother's needs? When had it started?

America felt a sudden wave of rage wash over him.

"Is it because of what Jane said?" he asked, his free hand tightening in a fist.

Kumajiro shrugged.

"She didn't help. But she's not the one who started it. Being Canada isn't easy. He has always been a bit like this, and after France..."

"France?"

America suddenly realized that he hardly knew anything about Canada's former caretaker. England didn't like him, and Canada hardly ever spoke about him, but he still slipped to French when he wasn't completely awake, and America had caught him singing French lullabies under his breath a few times. Wouldn't he refuse to use that language if he truly hated him?

"Not my place to tell," Kumajiro repeated, turning his head. "Ask him once he's better."

The bear turned his head to the wall, clearly signalling that the conversation was over.

Once again, America was left alone, tending to his sick little brother.

The next few hours passed without any notable change. Canada didn't seem to get any better, his breathing was still raspy and laboured, frequently interrupted by small coughing fits, his pasty skin was covered by a sheen of cold sweat and burning with fever.

He never woke up. A few times America managed to make him drink some water, but the child never opened his eyes. Sometimes he would mumble something unintelligible, his voice too feeble for America's ears, but he never answered if asked to repeat.

"Let it go, he's speaking French," Kumajiro said after a while, nuzzling the child's cheek.

America felt a pang of pain go through his chest, but he ignored it and changed the wet cloth for the umpteenth time. At least, he noticed, his brother seemed to lean into his touch, his tightened features relaxing slightly. He wasn't completely useless.

Slightly comforted by the discovery and not knowing what else to do, America started singing softly as he stroked his little brother's hair. It was just a lullaby, nothing special, one that England had sung to him numerous times when he had been little, but Canada immediately relaxed, and America kept going.

"England did that too," Kumajiro remarked, shifting slightly.

America wasn't sure of how a song was supposed to help, but he took comfort in the fact that he wasn't doing everything wrong.

In spite of that, Canada's fever didn't abate, and the child never regained consciousness, his breathing too shallow and laboured to be safe.

America bit his lower lip, switching from singing to humming the song.

A Nation or not, Canada was in desperate need of a doctor… but he had no way to contact one. He wasn't going to leave Canada alone in the house, and he couldn't send a talking polar bear to the town. He could picture how well that would go.

"It's dinner time," Kumajiro pointed out unexpectedly sometime later. "Eat something."

He tilted his head towards the basket at the feet of the bed, still containing a loaf of bread, some cake and ham.

America was surprised to realize that he wasn't hungry, even less that he had been at lunch, but he knew that he had to save his strength if he wanted to properly take care of Canada. He smiled at the bear and took a bite of the bread. It tasted like paper, but America forced himself to finish it.

"Lie down for a bit now," the bear said, "You're tired too, you didn't sleep at all last night. I'll wake you up in a bit."

America wanted to protest, but he felt too drained to do so.

He lay down next to Canada, wrapping his arms around the child's small frame as Kumajiro tucked a blanket around both of them. America wasn't even sure that it was needed, Canada' s body was radiating heat, but appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

With the certainty that his little brother, albeit sick, was safely pressed against his chest, America managed to slide into a light slumber. It wasn't a proper sleep, his body never relaxed and he was still vaguely aware of his surroundings, but at least he wasn't thinking anymore, the cold oblivion of sleep keeping his mind away from the concern.

He spent the night like that, tending to his little brother and letting his body slumber a few times, sometimes sitting against the bed's board, other curled around Canada's shivering body.

In spite of America and Kumajro's cares, the child's fever didn't abate, nor did his shallow and irregular breaths get any better. Too fatigued to think about anything, America kept taking care of him as well as he could, stroking his burning skin and humming lullabies. His hands never left Canada's body. America knew that it was stupid and irrational, but some part of his mind was almost convinced that the child would vanish if he didn't keep a hold of him.

The first sunrays filtering through the window the following morning caught America by surprise, making the boy groan as he rubbed his tired eyes. Even more unexpected was a gentle knocking at the door.

America straightened up, completely awake, placing Canada's unconscious form on his lap as Kumajiro stirred on the bed.

 _Jane? But I told her…_

His muscles were tight with rage, he was ready to jump at the woman – he was sure that he wouldn't be able to restrain himself this time – but the voice at the other side of the door didn't belong to Jane.

"Young master?" asked Eleanor's hesitant voice, "Young master, are you awake?"

America needed a few moments to regain his bearings and realize what was happening. He had completely forgotten about Eleanor. She had only started coming a few months earlier, and she wasn't there every day… America had never bothered to learn her schedule, but there she was now. A human. Somebody who maybe knew something of medicine.

Still, America couldn't relax fully. He had never seen Eleanor interact with Canada, what if she treated him as Jane had? Was she aware of the punishment?

"Yes, come in," he said anyway, his voice neutral.

The woman hesitated a moment before gently opening the door.

"I'm really sorry for disturbing you," she started saying even before stepping into the room, her head bowed. "But I can't find Mrs Belton anywhere, and with everything that happened the other day I just wanted to…"

America felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. Eleanor didn't know why Jane wasn't in the house, which meant that Eleanor didn't know anything about what had transpired the previous day.

The young woman raised timidly her head and immediately gasped, her brown eyes widening.

"What's going on?" she asked, her previous reluctance forgotten as she moved closer to the bed to have a better look at Canada. Her voice was laced with concern, her eyes warm and tender. "Oh God, is he sick?"

Canada chose that moment to mutter something in French.

America lifted him, cradling him closer to his chest as he kept his eyes trained on Eleanor.

"He has been sick since the other night," he said, trying to mask his concern.

Eleanor nodded grimly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"He's not breathing well," she pointed out, automatically stretching a hand towards the child.

America glared at her, pressing Canada closer to him. Maybe she wanted to help, but after Jane, he couldn't be sure… and he wasn't going to let anybody lay a single finger on Canada if there was even a small chance that they might hurt him.

Eleanor froze, but she didn't back away.

"I was afraid of this, the water was so cold…" she muttered, "Have you already called for a doctor? Is this why Mrs Belton isn't here?"

It was becoming clearer and clearer that Eleanor wasn't involved, but America still needed to make sure.

"I sent her away," he snapped, "It's her fault Mattie's sick. Instead of taking care of him, she closed him in a room without even letting him dry."

He watched Eleanor's eyes widening in horror as the colour was drained from her face.

"W—what?" she stammered, "Why would she ever… why did she want to kill him?!"

The girl immediately clamped a hand against her mouth.

Suddenly, America realized that he wasn't even sure that Eleanor knew they weren't human. She had to have realized that there was something strange with them, but she wasn't around much… and apparently, she didn't know that they weren't mortal.

"I don't know," he said abruptly. "I don't think she wanted to kill him, but…"

Eleanor made a small noise of disagreement, her pupils wide, but she soon gained control of herself.

"There's no time for this now," she said, her voice determined. "Forgive my impertinence, but I can see that he's very sick. What's wrong with him? What have you done till now?"

America quickly listed all the symptoms, feeling the weight in his chest lessen slightly now that somebody was listening to him. Eleanor seemed to understand what he was talking about, maybe she would be able to help.

Her features, however, tightened with each of his words.

"This… this isn't good," she said in the end, her hands trembling slightly but her voice firm. "Young master, I'll go call a doctor right now. It might…"

She hesitated, then shook her head.

America was puzzled by her behaviour, but he didn't get a chance to ask what was it about before she talked again.

"Try to make him drink, and to lower his fever. Keep him elevated, it should help with his breathing. And take off some blankets."

"But he's cold!"

Eleanor almost glared at him.

She caught herself immediately, blushing, but she didn't desist.

"Yes, but it's not helping the fever. Young master, this is very serious. I'll be back as soon as I can, but I have to go now, there's no time to waste."

The young woman was already marching to door with quick strides, her shoulders squared.

"Wait!" America called her, "Can you send somebody to leave a message for Arthur Kirkland? I know that he's supposed to arrive soon, but he'll probably have some business in town. He has to come home immediately, Mattie's sick!"

Eleanor nodded without turning back, never slowing down her pace.

After her form disappeared, America kept listening to her hurried footsteps on the wooden floor.

 _'Please, hurry,'_ he begged, burying his face in his little brother's hair. _'Please, Mattie's too sick. He might not make it. Please, I need help. Please…"_

Something nudged his leg.

America lifted his head to see Kumajiro looking at him with his wise eyes.

"It's going to be all right now."

America wished he could be half as certain as the bear sounded.

 **(word count: 6,677)**

* * *

 **Notes** **:**

Sorry for taking so long! I hope that the length of this chapter somehow made up for it.

I think that what happened with Jane is pretty clear, now. America and Canada, however, can't understand it because they haven't still fully grasped how things work for humans. Well, America hasn't (Davie, anybody? Now that he's growing up he has also gained some awareness, but not so much) Canada is somehow less clueless, but at this point too feverish to think clearly. And America _is_ partly right, she has kind of gotten crazy, but not for the reason he thinks.

If anybody has questions about her or Eleanor you can PM me, they weren't important characters in this story because I don't like throwing in OCs, but they're full-fledged characters in my mind. (Also, in case it wasn't clear, Mrs Belton is Jane. Her full name's Jane Belton, but America calls her Jane because he's America, and Canada has added the 'Mrs.' to the name America and England introduced her with because it sounded politer to him)

I didn't repeat it after the first chapter, but I feel like I should: English isn't my first language, and I'm far from perfect at it. I apologize for any mistake you may find. I'm trying my best, obviously, and I proof-read every chapter multiple times before posting, but I'm sure I'll still miss something. The fact that I'm writing at a computer doesn't help, I tend to make a lot of typos, sometimes I even completely miss a word because I'm thinking ahead. Another thing is that apparently, I've unconsciously mastered some fast-reading techniques, which makes it harder for me to spot spelling mistakes. I try to read at a slower pace, reading every word fully, but I always slip back to my usual reading speed. So yeah, I'm sorry for the mistakes. Please point out anything wrong you may see!

It has also occurred to me that I might have misunderstood the meaning of 'fluff'. I thought that America taking care of Canada was fluffy, in spite of the ongoing drama, but can it be called fluff if Canada's still wallowing in his utter lack of self-esteem and America's growing more and more worried? Is angsty-fluff even a thing? (In case it isn't, I apologize profusely for all the times I promised fluff. I sincerely thought that this was fluff. …Whoops?)

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! I can't tell when the next one will be because real life is getting a bit too real and busy, but I promise I'll try my best to write whenever I can. Please leave a review!

* * *

 **Monaterofsturf16:** Thank you so much for reviewing! And for pointing out that I made spelling mistakes (I didn't find out too many, though, so I've probably still missed something). Eleanor doesn't go to the house every day, she helps out Jane when there's a lot to do (in that case, it was the laundry). I'm sorry it wasn't clear, some more will be explained in this chapter, but America and Canada normally don't dwell much on Eleanor or Jane's presence unless there's something wrong, and everything is filtered from their POV. As for England, as Jane said in the second chapter, he's coming to visit 'soon', so he'll definitely pop up sooner or later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes** **:** I can't really thank you enough for all the reviews, follow and favorite! Your words are always so nice and uplifting :) and sorry for the way I freaked out about my English last time, it's just that I can't really judge by myself whether it's good or not, thanks for reassuring me!

I hope you'll like this chapter :)

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

The minutes seemed to stretch into hours as America waited.

He didn't know for how long Eleanor had been gone, but it felt far too much… she should have reached the town by then. Why wasn't she coming back? What was keeping her?

"Relax," said Kumajiro, and America realized that he had started chewing on his lower lip. "She's going to be back. It's going to be all right."

America didn't answer him, choosing instead to replace the cloth on Canada's forehead.

The child wasn't any better than before, his skin was still heavily flushed and hot, and his body was shaking. America itched to wrap him in as many blankets as he could, but Eleanor had been firm about it.

His breathing, however, _did_ sound a little better now that he was propped up by the pillows. It was still shallow and raspy, but slightly less than it had been before.

It was still far from ideal, however, and America couldn't help but fear that there was something seriously wrong with his brother. What if a colony could die of a common illness? England didn't know many colonies, after all, maybe it had just never happened before…

"Will you relax? She hasn't been gone for too long. You'll only make things worse if you keep this up." Kumajiro's voice was tinged with mild annoyance.

America forced himself to take a deep breath and relax his tense shoulders.

He _hated_ having to wait. It reminded him even more of how helpless and useless he was in that situation, making him dwell on everything that he could have done differently to prevent the accident from happening.

He almost wished he had been the one running to get the doctor, but that would have meant leaving Canada alone, which was even worse. No, he just had to wait.

As time passed, however, America couldn't help but grow more and more restless, millions of thoughts whirling into his mind. What if something had happened to Eleanor? What if the doctor didn't want to follow her? Or maybe she had run into Jane, who had convinced her that Canada deserved his punishment and didn't need any medical care since he was going to recover anyway…

"Where's that doctor, Kuma?" he asked, tapping impatiently on the mattress.

The bear glared at him.

"She has to go to the town, find a doctor and come back here," he snapped, "It's going to take a bit, they can't _fly_."

America was still convinced that it was taking far too long, but he pressed his lips into a thin line and refrained from answering.

Finally, _finally,_ after what seemed centuries, America heard the door open downstairs, and two sets of hurried footsteps get closer to the room.

He straightened up, tensing, ready to jump to his feet and reproach Eleanor for being so late, or maybe welcome the doctor and tell him about Canada's situation, he didn't know what he was going to do, but he couldn't wait a minute longer…

The footsteps stopped in front of the door, which was promptly opened, revealing the two frames on the doorstep.

America froze, the breath caught in his throat.

Eleanor hadn't brought a doctor – Eleanor had brought _England_.

 _England was there. He had finally come._

England was going to take care of everything.

The older nation didn't waste a moment before heading quickly towards the bed, a determined expression on his face.

"Alfred," he said as a greeting. His voice was soft, tender.

America felt a lump in his throat, his eyes swelling with tears.

"Why are you so late?!" he screeched, his voice trembling, but scooted to a side to let England have a better look at Canada.

"I was on a ship until a few hours ago, Alfred," England answered, curtly but still in a soft voice, leaning over his younger colony. "I had just gotten to the docks when I ran into Eleanor, who told me that I had to hurry home because Matthew was badly sick."

He pressed a hand against the child's forehead, furrowing his brow, then let it slide to his neck.

"I'm feeling his pulse," he explained in a soothing tone, without looking at America. "It's faster and weaker than it should be, but he's going to be all right."

"Are you sure?" America couldn't help but ask, his eyes wide with concern.

He felt slightly dazed, as if he couldn't fully register what was happening – that England was there. He was going to fix everything.

England turned to him, offering him a soft smile.

"Yes. Of course I am. Have I ever lied to you?"

America swallowed, desperately trying to keep his voice from wavering.

"But he's so sick…"

Kumajiro let out a small noise of agreement.

England sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed as his hand stroked Canada's hair.

"I know. I won't deny that this is unpleasant, but your brother is going to be just fine. Remember, he can't die for an illness."

A moan bubbled up America's throat.

"Then _why_ is he so sick?!" he asked desperately, bending slightly towards England.

The older nation placed a hand on America's knee, squeezing lightly. The warm weight felt oddly comforting.

"I don't know," he admitted, "A lot of factors could have come into play. What I know is that his land had quite a harsh winter. Nothing too disastrous, but it might have weakened him enough to let him catch this illness. Poor child…"

England shook his head as he gently cupped Canada's cheek.

"So, what do we do now?" America asked shakily, "He has a bad fever. And he was throwing up all the time until this afternoon, and he's not breathing well, can't we do anything now?"

He strongly hoped that England wasn't going to say that they just had to let him recover on his own, he couldn't bear to see his little brother in that state for another moment. He was sure that England couldn't either, his forehead was creased as he looked at the child, and he hadn't stopped stroking his face and hair for a moment.

There was no doctor, however, England had come alone with Eleanor – who was nowhere to be seen.

"Of course we aren't going to let him stay like this!" England retorted immediately, "I just wanted to... Never mind. Now we'll take care of him."

England took Canada in his arms and stood up, carefully cradling the child, who stirred slightly at the movement, moaning softly, but without waking up.

"Come. I've asked Eleanor to draw him a cold bath, it will help lower his fever."

America followed his brothers out of the room, gritting his teeth. _Why_ hadn't he thought about that?

Something nudged his leg.

"It's going to be all right," said Kumajiro, "You can stop worrying now, you did everything you could."

"Of course," retorted England, looking behind his shoulder. "I'm sure that you did wonderfully, Alfred. I know that it's scary because Matthew's so sick, but believe me, only by staying by his side you were a huge comfort."

America knew that, he had seen the way Canada leaned into his touch, but it hadn't seemed _enough_ … still, England's words had considerably lessened the weight in his chest.

Eleanor had just finished filling the basin when they got to the bathroom, and she stood up swiftly, immediately training her eyes on the small form in England's arm.

"Sir, forgive me for my impertinence," she said, wringing her hands, "But… are you really sure that a doctor won't be needed? He's just a small child, and he looks seriously ill…"

England offered her a small smile, but when he spoke his voice was firm.

"I thank you for your concern, but it's going to be all right. I might not be a doctor, but I have studied a lot about medicine, I know what to do. Please, just go and make that infusion I told you about. Bring it to my room once you are finished."

The woman hesitated for a moment, her eyes lingering on Canada's unconscious form, but England turned his back to her, letting her understand that the discussion was over. She bowed her head and scurried off, closing the door behind her.

When America focused his gaze back on England, the man had already started removing Canada's tunic, whispering softly to him. The child whimpered in protest, shifting slightly, but his movements were too weak to hinder England's actions, and a moment later he was naked.

England froze suddenly, and Kumajiro let out a distressed sound.

As America hurried closer to check what had unsettled his older brother, the man turned to him, his expression grim.

"What happened? Do you know anything about these?"

America leaned over his little brother, frowning. Ten purple oval marks stood over the child's pale shoulders, five for each shoulder. _Fingertips._

America's eyes widened in horror as he realized what those bruises meant. He gasped, clasping a hand against his mouth, the taste of bile to the back of his throat.

He desperately looked at England's questioning eyes, then shifted to Kumajiro's solemn expression.

"B—but…" he stammered, his mind too muddled to put together a full sentence, "I… I d—didn't grip him so hard!"

As soon as the words seeped through his lips, America realized that he had no way of knowing whether they were true or not.

Of course, hurting his little brother had been the last of his intentions, but he _did_ remember gripping him by his shoulders. He didn't remember tightening his hold, but the memories of those moments were blurred by the shock and concern.

"I didn't mean to hurt him!" he pleaded, snapping back to England's confused face. "I really didn't! I…"

The words failed him. He felt sick, his ears were ringing.

England' expression turned from confused to alarmed.

"Alfred, what happened?" he asked, stretching a hand towards the boy as he cradled Canada to his chest with the other hand. "Calm down. Take a deep breath and sit down for a moment, then you'll tell me what happened."

America obeyed, all but flopping down to the floor next to the basin as England gently deposited Canada inside it. His knees felt weak.

He could only watch as Canada started squirming, whimpering feebly, but England kept holding him down, gently shushing the child.

"Easy, love. Easy. I know that this is uncomfortable, but you're very ill right now. I need to get your fever down. You'll feel better soon," he murmured softly as he ran his fingers through Canada's wet hair.

The child soon quieted down, too weak to move, but he never stopped shivering. Each of the small whimpers that seeped through his pale lips seemed to pierce America's heart.

"Is this… Is this really necessary?" he found himself asking, his eyes glued to his little brother's contracted features.

England sighed tiredly.

"Yes. I wish it weren't, but his fever is far too high." The man's voice was so soft and tender that America almost felt like crying. "I'm sorry you have to see this, love. He's going to be all right, I promise."

America nodded mutely. He wanted so badly to believe England – he was older, he knew much more than they did, he _had_ to be right – but… what if he was wrong? What if Matthew wasn't going to recover?

"Alfred," his brother's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "What happened? What about the bruises?"

America couldn't detect any hint of accusation in England's voice, but his words made his insides squirm with guilt.

"I… I didn't mean to hurt him," he muttered desperately, locking eyes with his brother. "I just… I was so scared because he had fallen into the river and I didn't want him to do that anymore and I just…"

America hung his head in shame, he couldn't bear to look at England's eyes. No matter what, that _was_ his fault. For how scared he might have been, there was no justification for losing his temper that way.

In spite of the guilt scratching at his insides, he forced himself to go on.

"I don't even remember well, I was so scared… but I think that I grabbed him by his shoulders after I was sure he was all right. I didn't mean to hurt him, though! I… I must have squeezed too tight because I was so scared, I just wanted him to understand that he wasn't to do that ever again…"

America fell silent, not daring to raise his head.

He was expecting England to scold him, and he would have been right – instead, a warm hand fell on his shoulder, prompting him to raise his head.

England was crouched in front of him, his features tight but his lime green eyes shining with tenderness.

"Oh, Alfred," he sighed, gently cupping the boy's chin, "It must have been so horrible for you… It's not your fault, love. I see, you must have been so terrified, my poor boy…"

America felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes at the almost unbearable sweetness in his brother's voice. He swallowed, desperately trying to prevent them from falling.

"I understand. You didn't want to hurt Matthew, it was an accident. But you see, you're very strong… you shouldn't forget your strength. You might get somebody hurt if you do."

"I—I know!" America said in a half-sob, "I… I…"

Before he could go on, Canada whimpered from the basin, muttering something as he tried to squirm away from the water. England immediately stood up and went to him, followed by America.

"How long do you have to keep him there?" America asked as the older nation tried to calm down the child, running his fingers through his hair and muttering sweet words of comfort under his breath.

"Just a bit more," England muttered without raising his head. "His fever already went down a bit. If we can lower it some more…"

America nodded. Hesitantly, he raised a hand, then stopped it a few inches from his brother's face – he desperately wanted to try to comfort him, but he didn't know if he was allowed now that England was there, he had hurt him after all… England, however, offered him a small smile.

"Go ahead. He's probably more used to your touch than mine, you see him more often… It will be more comforting."

America was surprised to realize that England's words were true. As soon as his fingers brushed over Canada's still hot skin, the child leaned into his touch. His contracted features relaxed slightly, and America felt his thundering heart finally start to slow down, the panic that had plagued his mind receding.

Canada was still wheezing, each intake of air was shallow and laboured, but his skin, while still far too hot to be healthy, was starting to cool down.

"Do you feel a bit better now?"

America needed a moment to realize that the question was addressed to him. England had taken to wetting Canada's hair, his movements slow and soothing, but he raised his eyes to look at the older colony.

America nodded, confused. He wasn't the sick one, but England was clearly worrying for both of them, not only Canada… it didn't make any sense. And yet, the weight in his chest seemed to lessen at the warmth in his older brother's voice.

England offered him a small smile. His focus went back to Canada, but America noticed that his shoulders were slightly more relaxed.

For a few moments, the two stayed in a comfortable silence, minding the sick child, until England spoke again.

"So, would you mind telling me what happened exactly? Eleanor mentioned that Matthew fell into the stream two days ago, but she was so frantic that I couldn't understand anything past that he was very sick. How did that happen? And where in the bloody – I mean, where is Jane?"

America tensed. He had been so focused on trying to take care of his little brother that he had hardly spared a thought at the woman, but he hadn't forgotten about her, nor had he forgotten Canada's eyes, panicked and wide with despair. His blood boiled with rage at the woman's name, he automatically clenched his free hand into a tight fist.

"She's not here," he spat out, gritting his teeth. "I sent her away. Did you know that she never liked Mattie? That she treated him badly and insulted him?"

Kumajiro supported his words with a low growl.

England straightened up abruptly, all the colour drained from his face, his eyes wide.

"W—What?!"

A small part of America's brain rejoiced in his brother's visible horror, quivered with anticipation for the punishment that was implied with that emotion – but the other couldn't think anything past the rage that still invaded his mind at the memory of what had happened. Slowly, his voice never wavering, he told England about everything that had transpired with Jane, without sparing any detail – not the woman's spiteful words, nor Canada's obvious distress at them.

At the beginning, England had been aghast, but when America finished his tale his features were tight, his eyes clouded by a cold glint that America couldn't read.

"I see…" he murmured softly, smoothing Canada's bangs back from his forehead. "Poor, poor child. This is all my fault…"

That wasn't the reaction America had been expecting. Not by a long shot. England did look angry, but in a strange way, almost resigned.

"Err… What?"

England sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Alfred, do you remember Mark?"

"Mark… as in Jane's kid?" Alfred asked, taken aback. "Uh, yeah. Of course I do. What about him? How is he involved in this mess? Did he have tons of children that drove Jane crazy?"

It wasn't a logical explanation, but the best America's confused mind could come up with.

England sighed tiredly, furrowing his brow.

"Alfred, what are you talking about? He would be twelve, that's far too young to have children, it's impossible…"

Alfred blushed slightly at the realization of how much he had misjudged Mark's age, but after all, how was he supposed to know? Humans were so complicated… he was about to say that when his brain registered the way England had formulated that sentence.

"Wait, 'would'? What do you mean by that? Isn't it supposed…"

His eyes widened in horror at England's grim expression.

"Oh…" was all he could say as he brought a hand to his mouth, his mind still too confused to fully comprehend what he had finally grasped. "Oh…"

"Mark is dead," England said softly. "He died when he was four years old. I don't know the full story, just that he fell in the water during winter. He fell seriously ill, that was why Jane left for a while, remember? I still paid her, so she had money to get medicines, but Mark didn't make it."

America was frozen on the spot. He wanted to say something, but it was like he was paralyzed, not a single word came to his mind.

All he could think about was Mark, his big periwinkle blue eyes, his blond locks, the pudgy hand that would grab Jane's skirt as he hid behind her. America had never interacted with him much, but… he had been a _child_. A sweet, innocent child, so tiny, still so new to the world… America had expected him to grow up, to become an adult. But he hadn't. He had died at _four_. Four years were such a brief time… he hadn't even had the time to know the world he had been born into.

"D—do human children die like that?" he asked in the end, his voice caught in his throat. "Just… like that? Falling in a river?"

Were humans that fragile? One minute they were there, then they were gone. America _had_ known that humans could fall ill and die, but he had never realized just how ephemeral their lives were. Mark and Jane had been happy, and then, just like that, without any warning, everything had been gone.

America instinctively pressed a hand against his little brother's chest. His breaths were shallows, but his little heart was thumping loudly under the heated skin. And it wouldn't stop.

America had never realized how blessed he was.

"Yes," England said sombrely, his eyes dark. "Humans can die for anything."

He stroked Canada's cheek, eliciting a small whimper from the child.

"Jane… Jane didn't take it well. Her husband had died two years before, and she was completely alone… that's why I let her come back. The work would give her something to do, and she had grown genuinely fond of you, so I thought that it could lift her mood. And it did, for some time. Then I brought Matthew here."

England lowered his head, refusing to meet America's gaze.

"I thought… I thought she would be fine with him. It never crossed my mind that something might be wrong… but now I see how careless I was. Human mind is so complicated… I don't know what happened with Jane, she never told me anything, but from what you tell me I think that Matthew reminded her what she had lost, and the fact that he is immortal made her hate him. And this… this must have reminded her how Mark died. Along with the fact that Matthew, on the other hand, would get through this completely unharmed. This was the last straw, it made her completely snap."

America didn't speak as he tried to process the information England had given him. A day before, he would have felt sorry for Jane, horrified that she had gone through something like that. A part of him, in a corner of his mind, still was sorry for the girl he had once known, now that he understood how she had turned into the woman she was. But.

But.

His eyes focused on Canada's form. His little brother was trembling slightly in the lukewarm water, his skin ghostly pale, the features of his face contorted. America couldn't forget how he had sobbed the previous day, how desperate Jane had made him feel, how ultimately, even maybe without meaning to, she had led him to the condition he was in.

"It's still not fair," America declared boldly, raising his chin. "Whatever happened to her, it didn't give her the right to threat Mattie this way. _Nothing_ could give her this right. Mattie's only a child, he didn't do anything wrong!"

England raised his eyes to meet the boy's gaze. America was surprised to find them cold, glimmering with determination.

"Oh, I know. I'm fully aware of this. And don't worry, I'll deal with her, she'll be punished for what she did. I just…" the man's voice faltered. "I just wish I had seen this sooner. I could have seen this if I had paid more attention. And I could have spared Matthew this pain."

America rolled his eyes.

"Artie, not fair! You couldn't have known, this is so stupid! Really, looking at you I understand why Mattie always blames himself for everything… this is not your fault!"

He didn't like to see England like that. He was supposed to be strong, taking care of everything, not so vulnerable…

"But you can't get her walk away unpunished," he added again, to stress his position. He did – sort of – understand why somebody might absolve Jane, but that somebody wasn't him.

Kumajiro, who had been silent until then, made a sound of agreement.

"I won't, Alfred," England's voice was steadier now, surer. "I most certainly won't. But this isn't the right time, we have to take care of Matthew now."

For once, America had to agree with him and fell silent as he watched England monitor their little brother's vitals, pressing his sure hands against his neck and forehead. He clicked his tongue, his brow creasing slightly in concentration, then straightened up.

"I think his fever is quite down. It's still high, but not on a dangerous level. I'd like to focus on that cough, now… Alfred, can you take him out and bring him to my room? I'll be back in a minute."

America felt a sudden impulse to grab England's coat, to hold him back – but he knew that he wanted to help, so whatever he had to do was probably important. Trying to ignore the way his brother's footsteps moved away from the room, America lifted Canada and wrapped him in the softest towel he could find, murmuring soft words of comfort.

The child whimpered feebly, still unconscious, but he snuggled against his chest, his trembling slowly subsiding. Gently rocking him back and forth, America walked to England's bedroom, followed by a silent Kumaijro.

He had just deposited Canada in the middle of the big mattress, supported by his loyal bear, when the door opened, announcing England's arrival.

The man was holding a big bag to his chest, and he started sorting through its contents as soon as he sat on the edge of the bed.

America straightened up to see better, his hand never leaving Canada's hair.

"What's that?"

"Medicine," England answered as he opened a small jar, scooting closer to his colonies.

America watched with fascination as the man took some of the balm and spread it over Canada's chest, massaging gently. A strong, fresh smell invaded the room – mint, but there was something else, something America couldn't identify.

"This should help with his breathing," England explained without looking up, his fingers rubbing gentle circles over Canada's chest. "It's made with Thymus and Mint, they are useful against cough."

America was sure that he wasn't going to remember those names for more than a few minutes, but England's soothing explanation was oddly comforting – somehow, knowing what he was doing made America feel a little less helpless.

Canada, however, didn't seem to find the ministrations pleasing. He moaned feebly and tried to squirm away from the touch, shaking his head.

" _Non, non. Ç'est froid..."_ **(No, no.** **It's cold...)**

America immediately ran a hand through his damp hair, while Kumajiro licked the child's cheek.

"Hey, Mattie," America said softly, "Artie's trying to help you, please be still. He'll make you better…"

"Thanks, Alfred," said England, straightening up. "This should be enough for now."

With utmost care, he took a blanket and wrapped it around Canada's body, muttering tender words of comfort. The child coughed lightly.

"Shouldn't he be better?" America asked anxiously, unconsciously gripping the blanket.

"Not right now, it takes some time to have an effect. But he will be fine, I promise."

America wanted to know how England could be that sure, but his older brother smiled gently.

"It's going to be all right, Alfred," he said softly, placing his hand over America's. "I promise."

America felt a sudden wave of warmth grip his chest. He couldn't stop worrying about Canada, the child was still pale and wheezing, but England's voice sounded soft and confident. England knew what to do – Canada was going to recover.

The sudden realization stole the breath from America's lungs, making his head spin. He could feel tears welling at the corner of his eyes, he didn't want to cry because it wasn't the right moment, there were other things to worry about, but he couldn't stop the strangled whimper that erupted from his throat.

He closed his eyes, desperately trying to regularize his breath, when a pair of warm arms snaked around his shoulders. America suddenly found himself pressed against a lean, strong chest.

"Oh, Alfred," England whispered in his ear, rubbing his back, "My poor child. You were so scared, weren't you? It's all right now. I'm here. Matthew's going to be fine, and so are you."

America didn't want to cry – he was strong, an adult, he shouldn't cry – but England's voice was so tender, and his arms felt so strong and safe… the boy found himself sobbing loudly, desperately gripping onto the older nation as tears streamed down his face. England kept murmuring soothing words, stroking his hair and rubbing his back as he rocked gently back and forth.

It suddenly occurred to America that now he was taller than England – taller and stronger, bigger – but somehow, it didn't feel that way. England's form felt firm and solid, the only thing that kept him from drowning in that whirlwind of fear, concern and relief that he was finally allowing himself to feel, his warm hands reminded him that he could let it go – for he was there.

His older brother, the closest thing to a parental figure he had ever had, was there, and he was going to take care of him and Canada. For the first time in two days, America finally felt sure that everything was going to be all right.

It was a while before the boy managed to get his sobs under control and detached himself from England's arms, so drained that he could barely keep himself straight.

He still managed to feel a faint tip of embarrassment for having bawled like that all over England's shoulder, but the older nation didn't blame him for it.

"It's all right, Alfred," he said, smiling softly, as his hand reached out to smooth the boy's hair. "Why don't you lie down and sleep a little? I doubt you had much rest over the last days, you poor thing…"

America was too spent to even find words to protest, his head was throbbing slightly and everything felt strangely numb after his violent outburst. He lay down next to Canada, loosely wrapping his arms around the small frame, and muttered a _'thank you'_ when England wrapped a blanket around both of them, his fingers lingering over their forms.

This time, America had no trouble falling into a deep sleep. Not only Canada was safe in his arms, but his bone-deep weariness was tinged with the knowledge that he could rest, for he had done his part – England was going to take care of everything, now.

* * *

England was pacing back and forth beside his bed, gently rocking the small form in his arms as he hummed a lullaby.

Canada coughed lightly, but he didn't seem to awaken. Not that England had expected him to – he had woken up slightly not much earlier, but he had hardly been aware of his surroundings. His breathing had slightly improved, but not as much as England had hoped, and in spite of the cold bath, the fever had risen again. For how much England was aware that the child wasn't in any real danger, his chest tightened painfully with each raspy breath and breathless whimper.

He could feel the small body shiver in his arms, and he rubbed his back absentmindedly as his eyes fell on the form sprawled on the bed.

At least, America was still deeply asleep, and he seemed to have calmed down. England still wasn't used to how _big_ he had become – it had already been a surprise when he had turned out to be an eight-year-old child instead of a toddler, nations didn't usually grow up past the toddler stage in not even two centuries, and when he had seen him as a teen… England couldn't believe his eyes. Yet, there he was, taller than him, with his broad shoulders and strong body.

And in spite of that, America was still far from being a grown up, he was still a child – _his_ child. England's stomach churned with guilt whenever the boy's widened eyes and panicked expression came back to his mind. Canada's sudden illness was a traumatising experience for both of them, and they had had to go through most of it completely alone.

England wanted nothing more than stay by their side – but there was nothing he could do. For how much he wished it, he couldn't just abandon everything to spend time with his colonies, he had an entire nation to take care of.

Canada coughed again in his arms, squirming weakly. This time, the coughs were louder and deeper,

but England managed to calm them down after a bit, murmuring soothing words.

He was so focused on comforting the child that he missed the movements on the bed until America's tired voice called him.

"Arthur?"

The boy dragged himself to a seated position, rubbing his eyes.

"How's Mattie?"

England dreaded what was about to come – but he couldn't just lie to America. He wasn't a child anymore, he wouldn't be fooled.

"He has not recovered yet," he admitted, "But he's going to be all right, love. Just give it some time."

America's shoulders slumped, the smile slipping from his face as his eyes focused on his little brother's still shaking form.

England felt his chest tighten at the sight – but he had no idea of how to make things better, so he simply resumed his pacing, hoping at least to pacify Canada.

"I've managed to make him drink something not long ago, however. Peppermint, chamomile and ginger. It should help with his stomach… next time he wakes up, I'll give him something for the fever."

He wished he could have done that earlier, but it would have been useless if Canada had thrown it up. England hadn't even been sure that he could keep down the lighter infusion, but thankfully he had.

America nodded, slightly less pale than before but with his eyes still wide. Like that, he still looked painfully young, no more than a child.

England opened his mouth to say something comforting, but before he could Canada shifted in his arms.

"Mmh… _Q'est-ce qui se passe?_ " **(What's happening?)** he muttered sleepily, " _Je me ne sens pas bien…"_ **(I don't feel well)**

His words were punctuated by a small coughing fit.

"Mattie!" America called from the bed, hurrying closer.

England felt his heart shatter. For a moment, he couldn't even breathe.

"Of course you don't feel well, love," he said in the end, his voice caught in his throat. "You're quite sick. But see, you're going to be just fine. You just need to recover some more."

Canada blinked, but his lilac irises looked still glazed.

"Arthur?" he mumbled before a glimmer of recognition went through his eyes. "Mr England! _Q'est-ce…_ What are you doing here? Oh, _je suis_ … sorry, I'm sorry!"

Tears were glistening in the child's widened eyes, his voice was trembling.

"Matthew, what's wrong?" England asked, panicked, running his fingers through Canada's hair and gently rocking his body in a desperate attempt to calm him down. "It's all right, Matthew, there's nothing to be scared about…"

The boy didn't answer again, leaning his head against England's shoulder, but his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

A small wail seeped through America's lips.

"He did it before, too! I don't know how to make him stop, Kuma told me that he's afraid of bothering us…"

England felt a sudden lump in his throat at his colony's words.

"It's all right, love," he said anyway, pressing a kiss to Canada's head. "You're not bothering anybody. Now, let's give you some medicine, so you'll feel better."

The child merely blinked, looking more confused than scared.

England carefully deposited him in America's waiting hands before turning to get the syrup, desperately trying to mask his worry. Canada's behaviour was deeply troubling, but he had more pressing matters to attend.

"Alfie?" he heard the child slur as America whispered soothing words to him.

At least he was slightly aware of his surroundings, but not completely – and his lack of control spoke for itself about Canada's current condition.

"Here, take this," England said after pouring the syrup inside a spoon.

Carefully, he cupped Canada's chin with a hand and forced the spoon inside his lips. The child moaned in protest, but he still diligently swallowed the thick liquid, grimacing slightly.

"It should help with his cough and breathing," said England, in answer to America's questioning gaze. "It's English plantain, thymus and honey."

America nodded, smoothing back Canada's bangs.

"He's burning up again," he pointed out, frowning.

England felt his stomach drop at the boy's distress.

"I know. That's why I've got this. It's made from willow bark, it should lower his fever."

Swiftly, he took a still warm bowl from the side table and pressed it to Canada's lips.

"Drink this, poppet. I know it doesn't taste good, but it will make you feel better."

The child clearly wasn't happy about it, but his complacent nature made him dutifully drink the whole bowl in small sips, albeit grimacing slightly. England didn't know whether he should feel relieved at his obedience, or worried that he couldn't voice out his distress.

"There, that's a good lad," he said in the end, stroking Canada's head.

The child merely blinked. He looked exhausted, struggling to keep his eyes open.

England took him from America's arms and laid him down on the bed, propped up by Kumajiro's still sleeping form. In few minutes, the child was deeply asleep, and England took comfort in the fact that he didn't seem to be coughing anymore.

His health, however, wasn't what worried the older nation – he would recover, eventually. Mental scars, instead, could plague him for centuries unless they were properly addressed.

"What was all that about, Alfred?"

The older colony shrugged, shifting closer to his brother.

"Kuma didn't want to tell me much, but I think that he feels like he'll bother us if we have to take care of him. I can't understand why, though… all I know is that Jane told him that he was a bother, but also France is involved. What did he do?"

England felt hot rage course through his veins at the name of his long-time rival, but it was suddenly curbed by a pang of guilt. Of course, France had hurt Canada when he had left him… but England himself had never addressed the issue with the child, never wondered how much the abandonment had scarred him.

"I don't know," he was forced to admit, looking at the colony's sleeping face. "I know that he willingly handed him over to me, but I don't know if they were very close before… they might have been, though."

America gasped, his eyes wide in astonishment. He immediately turned to Kumajiro to find the polar bear awake but glaring at him.

"You should ask _him_ , not me," he declared.

America frowned, but England knew enough about the bear to realize that he wasn't going to elaborate any further.

"It sounds reasonable. As soon as Matthew feels better, we'll have a talk about this," he decided, reaching out to pat the child's head.

He didn't wake, but England felt rewarded when he leaned into his touch, sighing softly.

America nodded, lying down next to his younger brother. His eyes were brighter, no longer plagued by concern. England felt a sudden wave of panic at the realization of how much trust was placed into him – he wasn't ready, he wasn't good enough for those children – but at the same time, warmth blossomed in his chest.

"It's going to be all right, I promise," he whispered for the umpteenth time, placing his free hand on America's forehead. The colony leaned into his touch, relaxing slightly.

England was far from an adequate caretaker, he didn't have the slightest idea of how to raise children, but they were _his_. His colonies, his little brothers, his children. And he was going to try his best to take care of them.

 **(word count: 6,603)**

* * *

 **Notes** **:**

While I can understand French if it's spoken slowly, I don't speak it nor have I ever studied it, but I like the idea of Canada slipping back to his first language when he isn't completely coherent. I _did_ use google translate, but from personal experience (read: Italian used in fanfictions) I know that it's far from accurate, so I also checked translation forums and tried to deduce some rules, since French is very similar to Italian.  
Please bear with me as I try to make sense of that language, and correct me if I'm wrong.

 **EDIT 01/02:** My translation was wrong, I fixed it. Thanks to Guest and itsukyon11 for correcting me!

This took forever I'm sorry! Long story short, I'm pretty busy these days. And I even knew that I would be, but this story was supposed to be over way sooner… instead, it turned out much longer than expected. I should know by now… I'm afraid that next chapter is going to take some time, too, seeing that I'm still busy. It should be the final one (I really hope so because I don't have time to write right now but I really want to finish this)and it's finally back in Canada's POV. Anyway, let's move to important things.

England may seem a bit OOC, being so sweet and understanding, but please keep in mind that this is set before the Revolutionary War – and from the strips I've read, England was very kind and attentive to America back then, and he kept his temper in check.

All the plants England used are real medicinal plants. I have no idea if they were used in that period, though… I apologize if it's inaccurate. Honey is an old remedy, its efficacy is not clearly proved, but it's still included in many natural cough syrups since it's a bland emollient. Willow bark, instead, contains salicylic acid, which is one of the metabolites derived from acetylsalicylic acid, aka the active ingredient of Aspirin. If you have any question feel free to ask!

Please let me know what you think :)

* * *

 **Guest:** Thanks for reviewing! I'm aware that my stories are too slow-paced, it's probably one of my biggest weaknesses. I guess I could say that it's mostly meant to be this way, I like to dwell on everything and I meant to do it to convey Alfred's helplessness, but probably I went a bit overboard. And I probably did it with this chapter, too… I think it's my writing style, I can't help but write so much, still, thank you for pointing it out, maybe if I keep it in mind I'll slowly learn to be more incisive :)

 **Monaterofsturf16:** Thanks for reviewing again! I'm glad you're liking it, and what you said was really kind :) I just don't have much confidence, and it's not something I can change, sorry if I was too whiny.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes** **:** Finally, the last chapter! I really, really have to thank you all. I would have never expected this story to have such a response, and your support means the world to me. I have no word to express how thankful I am. I hope I won't disappoint you with the ending!

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Canada felt like he was floating.

It was a strange sensation – he was dimly aware that his body was real, heavy, but at the same time he couldn't truly feel it. His mind was muddled, he faintly recalled noises and voices and touches surrounding him, but he couldn't bring himself to care, he only wanted to slide back into the soothing embrace of oblivion.

Something told him that waking up wasn't recommended, he was much better suspended into that weightless void, but his mind had other ideas, and Canada slowly started regaining awareness of his surroundings.

The first thing he realized was that he wasn't lying down like he had previously assumed, but propped up in a semi-sitting position by something soft and warm. No, not something – _someone_. He could feel his support rise and fall slightly with each breath, a regular and soothing motion. _Kumajiro._

His body was naked except for a pair of underpants, wrapped in a thin but incredibly soft blanket, and an arm was sprawled over his midsection. It felt heavy, hindering any movement, but at the same time the solid, warm weight was oddly comforting. Something cold was on his forehead – no, not cold. More like damp. A cloth of some sort.

Immediately after, Canada realized why he had dreaded so much waking up: everything _hurt_. His body felt heavy and weak, his bones and muscles pervaded by a dull pain, his chest was tight, his throat dry and scratchy. When he experimentally took a deep breath, the child found himself coughing, the air caught in his lungs.

A hand landed on his forehead, then threaded through his hair, the touch gentle and soothing.

Only then, Canada realized that somebody was humming a lullaby in a low tone, barely audible. He recognized the tune – and also the voice and the hand, he realized suddenly.

"Mmhh… Mr England?" he muttered feebly, his voice barely above a whisper, as he forced his heavy lids open. Everything felt incredibly difficult, he was so weak that he could barely open his eyes, but after blinking a few times he managed to bring England's face into focus.

He was immediately rewarded with a tender smile.

"Matthew, love, are you awake?" asked England, his voice soft, without stopping from petting his hair. "How are you feeling?"

Canada nodded, confused. Why would England ask him if he were awake? He had opened his eyes, hadn't he?

As for the second question… He surely wasn't _fine_. But not that bad, either, nothing unbearable. And he had an odd hunch that it was definitely an improvement. Besides, he couldn't just trouble England, the older nation looked already worried, his eyes were soft but his forehead slightly creased.

Trying to take time, Canada examined the room – which wasn't his, he realized with surprise, but England's. The man was sitting on a chair beside the bed, leaning over him, and when he turned his head Canada found himself face to face with a deeply asleep America. The older colony was lying on his side next to him, the arm wrapped around the child belonged to him.

England chuckled lightly when Canada brought his questioning gaze back to him.

"He'll be very glad to see that you're finally awake. He refused to leave your side all the time, you know?"

Canada cocked his head in confusion, trying to make out the sense of England's words, it almost sounded like America had been worried, but wh— _Oh!_

The child's eyes widened in horror as he realized exactly why America was worried, and how he had ended up sick and bedridden. He couldn't still recall why he was in England's room, or how he had gotten there – he was sure that his most recent memories were set in America's bedroom – but the question was relegated to a corner of his mind.

"I'm sorry!" he found himself squealing weakly, "I didn't mean to be a bother, I'm so sorry, I…"

And what was England even doing there? Canada didn't recall seeing him – but now that he thought about it, there were echoes of his caretaker's tender hands and soothing voice in the haze of his feverish memories. Had it been real?

That… that was _horrible_ , so far worse than he had thought… not only he had managed to bother America – yes, his brother had comforted him, but Canada was positive that it was only because he was nice, not due to him deserving it or something of that sort – but he had also gotten _England_ involved. Oh, Canada couldn't even begin to think how annoyed he could be, he had so many things to do, instead, he had been stuck inside the house taking care of him, he–

"Matthew! Oh, no, love, don't apologize, please…"

Canada blinked in confusion.

 _That_ wasn't what he had been expecting. It most _definitely_ wasn't.

England's voice was still soft, almost unbearably sweet, and his hand had slid down to cup Canada's chin, his thumb stroking the child's skin.

"Matthew, you're not a bother. You'll never be a bother for me, and the same goes for Alfred."

The man was clearly straining himself too keep his features relaxed, and a glint of concern was shining in his bright eyes. But not rage. For how much Canada could look, there wasn't any rage or disappointment anywhere.

The child quieted down, unsettled by the unexpected turn of events.

"You have to believe me on this, love. We'll talk about it more extensively, but only once you're better." England sighed, relaxing slightly.

Canada suddenly felt ashamed for having ever thought that he wouldn't take care of him. He should know England by then, the older nation was nothing but caring and tender. He had even looked after him once before when he was sick, right after getting him from France. But that time had been different, it hadn't been his fault, and it was before…

Canada opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a small coughing fit.

England gasped, swiftly lifting him in his arms and hurrying to pat his back, murmuring soothing words. Soon, Canada's breathing was back to normal, but the sudden movement hadn't gone unnoticed.

From the mattress, America groaned, blindly patting the now empty space at his side, and Kumajiro growled softly, shaking his head.

"Mattie?" America murmured groggily, blinking.

"He's awake," answered England, settling the child back on the bed. "And his fever is quite down. How are you feeling, Matthew?"

"Better," Canada said automatically, leaning against Kumajiro's comforting weight. The polar bear nuzzled his hand in response.

America tilted his head, reaching out to touch his forehead.

"What does it mean?" he asked anxiously, his eyes wide. "That you're still not completely okay? You're still a bit warm, I think. Do you still have a cough? I think I heard coughing, before. And what about…"

"Alfred." England's hand closed over the colony's wrist, gently tugging it away. "Give your brother some space, he just woke up after being delirious for two days. He must be quite confused."

He most certainly was. England was still smiling gently – he should be angry, Canada knew that he should, but for some inexplicable reason he wasn't. And America should be angry too, he was supposed to be studying, he certainly didn't have two days to waste at his bedside, Canada felt suddenly sick at the realization.

England's gentle touch on his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Matthew, love? Just answer my questions. And please, be sincere, don't hold anything back. Are you cold?"

Canada could do that. England's voice was soothing, and focusing on one question at a time was easy.

He nodded hesitantly, feeling guilt blossom in his stomach at the glint of concern went through his older brothers' eyes.

England, however, took a second blanket and wrapped it around him. America frowned.

"Hey, but Eleanor said…"

"It's all right. His fever is not that bad anymore, bringing it down isn't so imperative… we can try to make him more comfortable, now."

England had smiled softly at Canada as he talked, but the child felt only more confused and guilty, unconsciously curling himself in the blanket.

"What about your throat? Does it ache?"

"A bit, but it's not…"

England reached out to ruffle his hair.

"Just answer me, love. Can you breathe in fully?"

Canada took an experimental deep breath. He found himself coughing at the end, eliciting an alarmed cry from America, but he settled down almost immediately. His chest still felt slightly constricted, but it was nothing like the paralyzing heaviness he could vaguely recall.

England nodded, his sharp eyes focused on Canada's face. The child immediately understood that no lie would go unnoticed.

"What about your stomach? Do you still feel nauseous? Do you think you can keep down something?"

Canada had to think a bit at that. He still felt slightly queasy, and the thought of food wasn't exactly pleasant, but maybe he could manage to eat something light.

England smiled lightly at his assessment. America, however, was still frowning.

"Are you sure?" he asked anxiously, scooting closer to him. "You aren't, like, going to throw up right after, are you? Because that wouldn't be nice, and…"

"Alfred, if he says he can eat it means he can," cut in England, sternly but not unkindly. "I know you're very worried, but he's getting better, I can guarantee you that."

He gently stroked Canada's hair as he said that, but it did nothing to ease the child's guilt. He had hardly ever seen America so frantic, it was _wrong_ …

"I think I'm giving you some more cough syrup, just to be sure," declared England, getting up from the chair.

As he approached with the dark bottle and the spoon, Canada tried to sit up straighter, only for his head to start spinning as black dots swam in front of his eyes. His body felt weak and heavy, and he found himself flopping against Kumajiro side, accompanied by a strangled gasp from America.

"Mattie!"

There was a shift of the mattress as he blinked, trying to clear his blurred vision. England's gentle hand cupped his chin, his thumb stroking his cheek.

"No, love, don't try to get up."

The man was smiling, his other hand on America's shoulder. The only thing that betrayed his worry was a panicked glint in his eyes.

"You're recovering, but you have been seriously ill. And you have hardly eaten anything since breakfast of three days ago, you're still very weak."

Canada dimly realized that the words were probably as much on America's behalf as his. His brother seemed to relax slightly, but his eyes were still clouded with worry.

"Alfie…" Canada muttered, extending his hand towards him. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, Alfred."

He didn't have enough strength to keep his arm raised for more than a few moments, but his brother took his hand, squeezing it lightly in his bigger, stronger one.

His expression, however, didn't soften – if anything, his frown slightly deepened.

"It's all right, Mattie." There was a strange hint of desperation in his voice. "Why can't you…"

"Open up," England interrupted him, holding a spoon in front of Canada's face.

Canada obediently swallowed the syrup, grimacing slightly. It didn't exactly taste bad, but it wasn't pleasant, either. The honey couldn't completely cover a sour aftertaste given by whatever plant had been included, making the liquid slightly nauseating. Or maybe that was just Canada's stomach acting up again.

He suddenly noticed that both America and England looked slightly tenser. America seemed about to talk, but the older nation gave a slight shake of his head. " _Not now._ " Canada could have sworn he had muttered under his breath.

And he probably had, because America's expression darkened slightly.

Canada's stomach dropped as he realized that it was most likely something about him. He had no idea of what it could be, but surely nothing positive.

He had just gathered the courage to start apologizing when a knock on the door startled him.

"Sir?" asked a feminine voice.

Canada felt the blood run cold in his veins. He froze, the breath caught in his chest.

"Come in," England said immediately, standing from the bed.

Canada's eyes widened as the blood was drained from his face. He had thought that America had sent Mrs Jane away, why was Eleanor there? He didn't think that her opinion was any different… Was it just an elaborate punishment? Make him delude himself into thinking that he was cared for, only to take everything away after he had experienced it…

A pair of strong arms enveloped him, and the child suddenly found himself in America's lap, pressed against his strong chest.

"Hey, Mattie, don't be scared," whispered the older colony, threading his fingers through Canada's hair. "It's all right, nobody is going to hurt you anymore."

Kumajiro pressed his warm muzzle against his arm, making a soft sound of comfort.

At the same time, the door opened, revealing Eleanor's frame. The young woman was carrying a tray with three bowls and spoons on it, she looked tired, strands of her long blond hair had slipped out of the messy bun she had tied it in.

Eleanor stopped dead as her eyes landed on Canada's frame, widening.

Canada hid his face against America's chest. Would she yell at him as Jane had? He was a bad child in human terms, after all…

"Oh, young master, you're awake!"

The genuine warmth in her voice caught him by surprise. He raised his head to look at his brother, suddenly panicked. Had he been sick, too? Was it his fault? Oh, he would never forgive himself…

America, however, was smiling encouragingly.

"You… you're recovering." Eleanor's voice was laced with surprise.

"I told you he was going to be fine," England said as he took the tray from her hands, his lips curled into a small smile.

The woman nodded, looking slightly dazed.

"He was so sick…" she muttered, "I thought… I thought…"

She shook her head, then smiled, her brown eyes bright.

"You really _do_ look better," she stated as she got closer to the bed, "And your breathing sounds so much better…"

Only when Eleanor bent down to be at his level Canada realized that the woman was talking about _him_. The revelation left him slightly dazed, gaping at the smiling face in front of his eyes.

Why would she ever…

"See, it's fine," said America, nudging him, "Eleanor's nice. She was really worried for you, she came back today even if she didn't have to. Not everybody is as mean as Jane, you know?"

Canada could only look around, trying to process what had just happened. If Eleanor wasn't angry at him, did it mean that Jane had been wrong? That what he had done wasn't so unforgivable? He didn't know what to think.

He _had_ disobeyed England and gotten closer to the river than he should have, which had resulted in him getting sick and bothering everybody, but the young woman didn't seem to view it that way…

Right then, Canada remembered that he was almost sure that Eleanor didn't know what they were. A sudden lump blocked his throat. He shied away from the woman, pressing himself against America's chest. She was nice now, but if she were to find out…

Eleanor's expression fell. The woman straightened up abruptly, lowering her head.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot my place, I was just…"

"There's nothing to worry about." England reached out to smooth Canada's hair as he talked. "But I'm afraid he's still quite unsettled, he's not fully recovered yet and what happened with Mrs Benton left him shaken… I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to leave. I'll let you know if we need anything else."

In spite of his words, the man's voice was kind, and Eleanor nodded, offering him a small smile before walking away. Canada kept his eyes fixed on her as she turned and delicately closed the door behind her.

"Matthew, there's no need to be scared, Eleanor is quite fond of you," England said with a sigh. "And no need to be surprised about it, either… but we'll talk about it when you're coherent enough to understand."

The last part had been barely above a whisper, so faint that Canada almost didn't catch it. He wanted to reassure England that he was perfectly coherent, the man's forehead was slightly creased in a way that made Canada's chest constrict, but he couldn't find the right words. Maybe England was right, maybe he was still too tired to deal with a proper discussion.

Canada let himself sink against America's form, rubbing his eyes.

"Still tired, Mattie?" asked his brother, smoothing back his bangs.

"That's perfectly normal, Alfred," retorted England, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "He's recovering, but he still needs to regain his strength after what he's been through. Here."

The man offered Canada a bowl filled with a warm liquid. The child raised his hands to take it, but England didn't relinquish his hold.

"Try to drink it all, if you can," he said, tilting the bowl. "But don't force yourself, I don't want you to be sick."

The liquid didn't taste bad, and it felt pleasantly warm when it settled in Canada's stomach, heating him up from the inside. Slowly, the child managed to drink the entire bowl.

"Good," England cooed in the end, stroking Canada's cheek. He looked relieved, his features slightly more relaxed than before. "Do you feel like eating something else? Eleanor made us porridge, it looks good."

Canada greened a little as his eyes fell on the bowl still on the trail. The porridge probably wasn't bad, but his stomach twisted at the thought of ingesting something solid.

He shook his head, feeling his stomach sink when England's expression darkened slightly. America tensed – it was barely detectable, only an infinitesimal change, but Canada was leaning against him, he could tell.

"Sorry…" he muttered, lowering his head. He desperately wished that he could stop being a nuisance – but he didn't know _how_. Well, maybe that was why he was a bother in the first place.

He heard England let out a weary sigh as America tightened his hold on him, holding his breath. Once again, he had managed to say the wrong thing.

England's rough hand cupped his chin, gently lifting Canada's head to look straight into his eyes.

"Stop apologizing, Matthew. You don't have to apologize for needing attention, you're just a child. It's my responsibility to take care of you… and it surely isn't a bother. Do you remember what I told you the first time we met? You're part of my family. And in a family, we take care of each other."

England' s voice was soothing, there was no hint of doubt in his eyes. Canada did remember him saying that… and he had believed him. But that had been before he had met America and seen how differently England behaved with him. Yet… maybe, the fact that England loved America more than him didn't mean that he didn't care at all. Maybe he just loved him in a different way, maybe a little less, buts still love it was, and as such, it should be cherished.

But… how long would it last? Canada knew that England and America meant well, he was ashamed of himself for ever thinking badly of them, but the root of the problem lay in a different matter: he was useless. Unlike America, his land wasn't rich and prosperous. Unlike him, he was still a child, too young to fully understand politics and take an active part in the government. And being useless, he didn't deserve somebody caring for him. America and England would eventually leave him, just like…

Canada closed his eyes, trying to melt into America's embrace. He didn't want to think, it was too painful, and he was too tired to deal with it. He felt his brother immediately tighten his hold.

England's hand slid from his chin to petting his hair as the man sighed.

"But you're tired now, poppet, aren't you? You should rest some more. You'll feel a lot better when you wake up."

Canada nodded, relieved by the change of topic.

"Is it…" America started to ask, tensing, but England interrupted him.

"Yes, it's normal. He'll recover in no time, but for now, he still needs a lot of rest."

He lifted Canada in his arms before laying him back on the pillows, tucking the blanket around him. He was still smiling softly, his touches were delicate and soothing.

America dragged himself against the headboard, sitting right next to Canada's prone form. He ruffled his hair, grinning.

Canada hadn't realized how tired he still was. He had been sleeping for most of the previous days, but his lids still felt like lead. He let them close, relaxing as Kumajiro settled his warm body next to him, nuzzling his side.

The last thing he felt was a pair of lips brushing his forehead.

"Sleep tight, poppet," said England's voice, "We'll be here when you wake up."

And Canada knew that it was true, just like it had been the previous time he had been sick. England was going to stay and take care of him, and so was America. He was supposed to feel guilty, but nothing seemed to be able to trump the sudden warmth blossoming in his chest.

His lips curling into a small smile, Canada let himself sink into the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

A loud bang caused Canada to jerk awake with a gasp.

The child straightened up on the bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that assaulted his head at the sudden motion, and scanned his surrounding with wide eyes, the noise completely forgotten as he realized that the room wasn't his, but England's. He needed a few moments to remember exactly _why_ he was there.

A soft gasp seeped through his lips. At his side, Kumajiro shifted.

"Go back to sleep, it's all right," he muttered.

Canada, however, was wide awake, and too alert to just fall asleep a second time. In fact, he was feeling considerably better than the previous time he had woken up – still a bit faint, but his mind was clearer. Breathing was much easier, too, and his throat barely hurt anymore.

"What time is it, Kuma?" he asked as he looked around.

Sunlight still filtered through the window, so it was afternoon at most. The signs of America and England's presence were all around him: the chair that had been set beside the bed, the way the blankets were slightly creased at his side, still carrying the imprint of a body, the tray on the bureau, the bowl on the side table… the two older nations, however, were nowhere to be seen.

Canada knew that the way his chest clenched at the realization was selfish, but he couldn't help it. America and England were surely busy, they didn't have time to look after him…

Suddenly, the child's eyes fell on a piece of paper sticking out from under the bowl, as if to invite him to take it. He did, and immediately recognized America's messy handwriting.

 _"Hey, little bro! I don't think you'll wake up anytime soon, but if you do, I haven't abandoned you, I swear. Just send Kuma to get me, okay? I'll be back in no time."_

A small smile tugged at the corners of Canada's lips as he looked at his brother's words. He was probably studying, but willing to be disturbed for his comfort… well, Canada wasn't going to do that, for once he was going to be strong and not selfish.

"Are you feeling better?"

Kumajiro was looking at him with his head tilted, his black eyes widened.

Canada petted him, relishing in the feeling of the soft fur under his hand.

"Yes, I think I'm almost fine. I'm sorry for making you worry."

The bear nuzzled his hand.

"You'd better not do that ever again."

Canada found himself smiling at his familiar's blatant concern. Sometimes Kumajiro might forget him, but he was always there when he really needed him.

"Kuma, what happened?" he asked, suddenly remembering why he had woken up.

He couldn't hear anything else coming from downstairs, but that didn't mean that everything was all right.

The bear shrugged.

"I don't know. I was sleeping. He told me… what do you think you're doing?"

Canada froze an inch from the end of the mattress. He felt a pang of guilt go through his stomach, but he swallowed and forced himself to ignore it.

"I want to see what happened," he declared, sliding down from the bed.

His head spun when his feet made contact with the floor, but it wasn't that bad. Using the wall as support, Canada slowly ventured out of the room, followed by a clearly displeased Kumajiro.

He had almost gotten to the end of the corridor when an unexpected sight made him stop dead.

America was crouched on the highest steps of the staircase, his face almost glued to the bannister. He certainly wasn't studying – but Canada didn't have the slightest idea of what he might be doing.

"Alfie?" the word seeped through his lips before he could even register it.

He had talked softly, but his brother immediately straightened and turned to him. His face lit up in relief, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey, Mattie! You're better, I'm so glad!"

Canada smiled back, instinctively moving closer to his brother. Not thinking, he left the support of the wall, only to find himself wobbling slightly as the floor seemed to tilt.

"Mattie!"

A moment later, Canada was scooped up by a pair of strong arms and found himself pressed against a muscular chest. His brother was looking down at him, his eyes clouded by concern.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I told your bear to get me if you woke up, but I shouldn't have left you alone, I'm so sorry, I just wanted to…"

"And just what are you doing here?"

America gasped and whirled around, offering Canada a view of the staircase.

England was standing right at the bottom, his arms crossed over his chest, frowning. He was standing straight, a fierce glint in his eyes that suddenly remembered Canada that he wasn't merely his older brother – that was the proud head of a strong empire, the British Empire. So powerful that merely thinking about it left Canada out of breath.

The man's features, however, softened as soon as he caught sight of Canada.

"Oh! You're awake. Are you feeling better, poppet?"

The man quickly climbed the stairs, reaching his colonies.

"I'm a lot better," Canada was quick to reassure him, squirming in America's arms.

England hummed as he placed a hand on his forehead.

"Well, your fever is completely gone," he declared, smiling.

Canada smiled as well, glad to see his brother's forehead finally relax, his features lose their tension.

"He's still a little wobbly, though," said America, his voice laced with concern, but England never stopped smiling.

"That's to be expected, but it will probably go away after he eats something. You think you can eat, can't you?"

At those words, Canada suddenly realized that the uneasiness in his stomach wasn't nausea anymore – that empty feeling that left him lightheaded was hunger. He had almost forgotten how being hungry felt like.

He nodded enthusiastically, his mouth watering at the thought of food – it didn't really matter what. Anything that could fill that gaping void was welcome.

"Well, let's get you back to the bed, then I'll bring some food."

England moved to take him from America's arms, cradling him against his chest like he was still a baby. Canada knew that he should feel embarrassed at that, he was far too old to be carried that way, but England's embrace made him feel so safe and loved… he leaned his head against the man's shoulder.

"Why were you out of the room? Did he need something?"

America tensed slightly, lowering his head.

"Uhm, no… not really," he mumbled, "I just wanted to see…"

Canada was curious about what his brother had been doing, as well, but he looked uncomfortable with telling England.

"There was a loud noise," he chimed in, "What was that about?"

Both England and America tensed slightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up, poppet," said England. "It's all right, I just lost my temper a bit…"

"Jane came back," America said bluntly.

"Alfred!"

"And Arthur went to deal with her. It's all right now. Isn't it?"

America's voice was fierce, anger glimmering in his eyes as he looked at England for an answer.

The man sighed, briefly closing his eyes.

"So, _that_ 's what you were doing. I told you to stay in the bedroom, Alfred…"

America shook his head.

"I know. I know that you didn't want me to hear Jane talking about Mattie that way… but I'm not a little child anymore. I know what she did to him, I don't need to be coddled!"

England sighed again, a soft, weary sound. Canada felt his heart clench at how tired he sounded.

"Sorry…" he muttered, burying his head against the man's shoulder.

It was all his fault, he knew that. If he had been more careful, Jane wouldn't have gotten angry, and America and England wouldn't have to worry about her.

"Oh, no, love." England's voice was tender, his hand gently rubbing his back. "What she did wasn't your fault. The way she treated you is unforgivable… I'm so sorry you had to go through that, poppet. I hope you can forgive me…"

Canada raised his head to look at England, taken aback. The man's features were softened by something that looked oddly like _regret_.

"But it's not your fault," he muttered, "And I…"

"No." England's voice was firm. "It _is_ my fault. I'm the one responsible for taking care of you, and I failed to realize the way Jane was mistreating you. Of course, she's far from blameless, and she will be punished, but I could have stopped her. So it's my fault. Don't ever try to think it was yours."

After that, the man fell silent, striding quickly to his bedroom, where he gently deposited Canada on the bed.

"I'm going to get some food, I'll be back in a minute. Alfred, stay here."

The older colony nodded as he let himself fall on the mattress.

Nobody talked until England's footsteps faded in the distance. Canada was too confused to utter any word, trying to sort out his thoughts. He was far from blameless, and he knew that. He didn't like the way Jane treated him, but he was sure that she wouldn't if he were a better child. More like America. Then, why…

"Mattie, it's true," America said unexpectedly, tearing the child from his thoughts. His expression was unnaturally grim. "It's not your fault. You could have done everything, and she still wouldn't have liked you… Remember when I told you about her son? Well, he's dead. He died a bit before you came. And she was jealous of you, that's why she treated you badly."

Canada felt the air being sucked out of his lungs. His mouth opened as he gaped at Alfred, unable to utter a single word. Now he could understand. Jane's contempt, her words…

" _You're mocking the way human children suffer."_

Oh, he had. So, so much. She had lost a child, and she had been forced to look at him thrust himself in a potentially deadly situation, only to turn out relatively unscathed… No wonder she was so angry at him, and she had every right to be. He had been so—

"Mattie."

His brother had placed both of his hands on his shoulders. He had the most serious expression Canada had ever seen on his face.

"Don't you _dare_ to blame yourself for this. She suffered a lot for her loss, and I can understand this. She broke down in front of Arthur and cried, I saw her, she was so desperate…"

His brother stopped, swallowing. When he resumed talking, his voice was considerably sweeter.

"But her suffering is not an excuse. She had no right to pour her pain on somebody else – even less a child like you. She's the only one at fault, you did nothing wrong."

Canada still wasn't convinced. His brother's words were sincere, and Kumajiro was nuzzling his arm in assent, but… he was an immortal being, after all. She hadn't truly meant to hurt him. And she had lost her child. Canada knew all too well how it felt like to lose a loved one…

"Alfred is completely right."

England's voice made both his colonies start as they turned to the door. The man approached the bed calmly, a tray balanced in his hands.

"And Jane is never going to set a foot on this house again. I helped her twice when she was in need… but now she's on her own. I can't throw her in prison, but finding a way to support herself won't be easy… and I'm not going to move a finger this time."

England's voice was firm, but the smile he offered his colonies as he sat down on the chair tender.

"Now, eat this. You need to regain your strength."

Not knowing how to reply, Canada took the bowl and started eating. He tried to focus only on the broth sliding down his throat, pleasantly warm. He had hardly ever eaten something that good.

Soon, the bowl was empty, and Canada's stomach full. He didn't think he would be able to stomach something more solid, but he felt less lightheaded. While not back to normal, it was the best he had felt in days.

"I'm glad to see you're recovering," said England, taking the bowl from his hands. "Are you still tired?"

"Not so much."

At his answer, America's face was lit by a huge smile, but England's features were still slightly tense. Canada had a hunch about the reason, and it was proven true by the man's next words.

"I think we need to have a talk, then."

Canada wished that he could take everything back, that he could say he was too tired and go back to sleep… but he couldn't. That wouldn't cancel the confrontation, only postpone it. He took a deep breath and tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. His mouth felt dry.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, lowering his head.

He heard America gasp as he shifted on the bed.

"Mattie! Don't…"

"Alfred." England's voice, while not unkind, had a stern undertone that was impossible to ignore. "Let him talk first. Now, Matthew, what are you sorry for? And please, look at me when you talk."

Canada forced himself to raise his head, blinking to suppress the tears that were pressing against his eyelids.

"I know that I wasn't supposed to get near to the stream, but I did," he said in a small voice, "And I fell in and got everybody in troubles. I'm so, so sorry! I should have listened, I'm sorry!"

He sniffled, and Kumajiro whimpered, pressing himself against his side. Canada closed his eyes, desperately trying to restrain the tears. He was so pathetic…

England's hand cupped his chin, his thumb brushing his cheek, prompting the child to open his eyes. Much to his surprise, the man didn't look angry. The expression on his face was something more like a mixture of tenderness and sadness, something Canada couldn't fully decipher.

"Now listen carefully, Matthew," he said soberly, "Yes, you should have listened to me when I told you to stay away from the river. And you ought to be punished for not listening."

"But…!"

England placed a hand on America's shoulder, silencing him.

"But I'm not going to do that, I think that you have faced more than harsh enough consequences. And I fear that you haven't understood something: the problem with you falling in a river isn't that you bothered us. It will never be that, poppet. You weren't a bother… The problem is that you got sick. I guess it's quite difficult to draw this line, but the mentality is completely different. When I tell you not to do something, it isn't because I don't want to be bothered with the consequences. It's because I don't want you to get hurt. I love you, and I don't want you to suffer. Can you understand this?"

Canada nodded mechanically, slightly dazed. He did partly understand, he was upset when somebody he loved got hurt, too, but…

"But I _did_ bother you," he muttered.

England sighed, his features darkening.

"Mattie! You didn't this isn't the problem!" protested America, taking his hands. "Why do you think so? What…"

"Alfred." England's voice was collected. "Calm down, please. Matthew, why did you get so close to the river in the first place?"

"I… I wanted to get an apple for Alfred," the child stuttered, using every inch of his will to keep eye-contact with England.

Alfred seemed about to say something, but England preceded him.

"Yes, Alfred told me that. But why?"

"Because… because I wanted to make him happy."

England's stern eyes let him understand that it wasn't enough. Swallowing, Canada forced himself to go on without bursting into tears.

"He… he was so busy and he wouldn't play with me anymore…"

A small wail seeped through America's lips as the blood was drained from his face. His widened eyes desperately searched for Canada's ones.

"Oh, Mattie, I'm so sorry! I…"

"It's not your fault!" Canada added hastily, "I… I know it isn't, really! You're busy, it's all right! But I thought that maybe if I got an apple you would be happy and you would love me…"

His eyes widened in horror as he realized that he had said far more than he should have. America and England were both gaping at him, their pale faces mirroring Canada's expression.

England was the first to recover.

"Oh, Matthew," he whispered, stroking the child's cheek. "Oh, my sweet, little Matthew. Why do you think so? Why… would you think that Alfred doesn't love you? That we don't love you…"

Canada wanted to cry. He hadn't meant to say this much, now England and America were upset and it was all his fault…

"I… I know that you love me," he whispered, his voice wavering, "But… but you _shouldn't_. Because I… I don't deserve it, because I'm _useless._ "

There. He had said it. Now there was no turning back. He lowered his head and gripped tightly Kumajiro fur. It was cowardly, but he couldn't bear to look at his older brothers' expressions once they realized the truth in his words, once they admitted—

America's arms snaked around him, hugging him so tightly that he could barely breathe. His brother was trembling.

"Mattie!" he wailed, "Oh, Mattie, no! Why would you ever… Is… is this why you think you're a bother? But you're not! And you aren't useless! Who told you that?! Was it…"

"Alfred, you're hurting him!"

Suddenly, Canada was free. He hadn't even realized that America had been squeezing him too tightly, his mind too dazed by the unexpected reaction. Why…

England's gentle hands scooped him up, placing him on his lap. Canada realized that now he was sitting on the bed, too. He hadn't seen him move.

"Matthew," England was saying, brushing the child's cheek with his thumb, "Matthew, love, listen to me. Please. You're not useless, Matthew. Why would you think that?"

His voice was so sweet, and his eyes so sincere… Canada wanted to believe him so, so badly. But…

"But I'm still little, and my land doesn't have all the riches America has!" he said desperately, trying to restrain the sobs. "I… I… I'm just…" his voice was barely above a whisper. " _Quelques arpents de neige"_ **(a few acres of snow) (1)**

He felt England hold his breath. Canada knew that he could understand French, even if he adamantly refused to speak it.

"What?" asked instead America, puzzled and worried at the same time.

England ignored him.

"Was it Francis who told you that?" he asked instead, his voice trembling with barely concealed rage, but his touch was gentle.

"N—no. I heard it from his people. But…"

England lifted his chin.

"Now, listen to me, Matthew." His voice was firm, his eyes glimmering fiercely. "That's not true. And even if it were… I don't care about it. Your value isn't based on how much your land can offer. Yes, Canada is my colony, but what I really care about his _Matthew_. You're valuable and worthy of being loved because you're yourself. My little brother. That's all I care about. And I'll never, ever stop caring for you."

It would be so nice if Canada could believe him. He almost did, England sounded so sincere…

"But I…"

"No buts, Matthew. That's how it is. You love Alfred, don't you?"

Canada nodded.

"And do you love him only because he's useful?"

Canada's eyes widened.

"N—no, of course not!" he turned to America, who looked pale and dishevelled. "I… Sorry, Alfred! I didn't mean it like that!"

"Of course you didn't." England ran a hand through his hair. "But then, don't you think that it could be the same for me and Alfred? We love you. And there's nothing more to it."

"Yeah!" America added quickly, scooting closer. "You're my little brother and I love you more than anything in the world, okay?"

He looked so hopeful, his eyes shimmering in spite of the obvious discomfort… Canada wanted it to be true. He really wanted it to.

"But Francis said that too," he whimpered pathetically, "He said I was his little brother, and that he would be there for me, and then… and then…"

Canada wasn't able to restrain a sob. He recalled the dread, the desperation when his caretaker had turned his shoulders to him. The sleepless nights spent wondering what he had done wrong, why France would barely look at him anymore.

"Then he ceded me and he left. Without saying a word."

Canada burst into tears. He hadn't meant to, and immediately tried to regain control of himself, but for some reason he didn't seem to able to stop the tears that streamed down his face, the sobs that bubbled up his throat.

"How could he?!"

America's outraged outburst made him start, but before he could say something he found himself pressed against England's chest, with the man's hand rubbing gentle circles on his back. Canada felt horribly guilty for what he had said, it was like he didn't want to be with England, who was nothing but sweet and caring, who certainly didn't deserve his whining.

England, however, didn't seem angry. He just kept stroking him, rocking gently back and forth.

"That bloody frog…" he muttered, "How could he ever…"

He took a deep breath, then detached himself from Canada. Looking at the still sobbing child in the eyes, he brushed away the tears with his thumb.

"Now, for how much it pains me to say this… Francis is a pervert and an idiot, but I don't think he truly wanted to hurt you, Matthew. In fact, I think that he cared for you a lot."

"Then, why did he leave him?" America's voice trembled in anger as he voiced out what Canada couldn't.

"Because he lost," England said bluntly, "And his king decided to cede Canada to be able to keep some more profitable colonies. But this has nothing to do with Francis or his feelings, there was nothing he could do. And knowing that twat, he probably came up with the ridiculous notion that distancing himself from Matthew would make the matter easier. What an idiot…"

America harrumphed in displeasure, but Canada barely registered the sound. His heart was pounding in his chest, making him almost dizzy.

"Are… are you sure?" he asked, his wide eyes trained on England's face to detect any hint of a lie.

The man smiled tenderly.

"I can guarantee you this. You know, every time I see that frog I have to be subjected to his ramblings of 'oh, I hope you've been treating _mon petit Matthieu_ well', 'how is _mon lapin_?'"

England's accent was atrocious. Canada found himself giggling, and was rewarded with both of his brothers smiling.

"So, you see," England went on, his voice soothing, "Francis still care for you. And even if he didn't, _I_ most certainly do."

"Yeah, me too!" America answered enthusiastically.

And this time, Canada could believe them. There was nothing but sincerity in their eager faces.

He nodded, clutching Kumajiro to his chest. He felt slightly guilty for doubting them, but he realized that voicing out that thought would only ruin the atmosphere.

The polar bear twisted in his hold to lick his cheek.

"See?" he whispered, "I told you. You didn't need to bring any cookie."

Canada burst into hysterical laughter that suddenly turned into crying.

"Mattie!" "Matthew!" were the alarmed reactions.

Canada shook his head.

"S—sorry. I—I j—just…"

England understood immediately. Sighing, he pressed the child against his chest.

"It's all right," he murmured tenderly, "It's all right now."

"Group hug!"

Without any other warning, America flung himself at them, sending England sprawled on his back.

"A—Alfred! Careful, you're heavy!"

But Canada was laughing, laughing and crying at the same time, and England's protests died down. The man managed to extract himself from the pile and lay down beside his colonies, wrapping his arms around both of them.

Gradually, Canada's sobs died down, leaving him completely exhausted, sandwiched between America and England, with Kumajiro curled against him. He was frail, still just a child, but his brothers' bodies were warm and solid, strong. They were going to keep him safe.

Canada gripped his brothers' hands, a small smile tugging at his lips. Yes, it was going to be all right.

 **(word count: 7,697)**

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 **Notes** **:**

I'm so, so sorry! This took more than two weeks, it's far longer than it should have… sadly, real life got a bit too real, and I barely had any time to write. I hope you can forgive me. (on a related note, has anybody ever studied in Zurich for university? I'll have to go there to work on my master thesis, but finding an accommodation is a nightmare, I'm at my wit's end… I'm open to any suggestion!)

 **(1)** This is a quote from Voltaire's _Candid_. From what I gathered, the common opinion around the Seven Years War was that Canada had barely any worth as a colony, it wasn't even worth defending, and at the end of the war it was ceded to England. I'm no historian, though, so I won't discuss this point any further, I might be wrong.

Regarding France and Canada's relationship… canon was contradictory on this. In older strips, we saw France taking care of Canada and trying to keep him when he fought England, but from newer ones it looks like England was the first one to ever take interest in Matthew as a person. Matthew himself stated so. I tried to conciliate the two versions this way. Basically, in my headcanon France used to care for Canada, but when he caught wind of the opinion in his country he realized that he would probably have to leave him. Knowing that England, in spite of everything, was a good caretaker, he decided to distance himself from Canada so he could bond immediately with England without being resentful for him taking him away from France. Canada, however, perceived it as being abandoned because he was worthless. I don't know if it makes sense…

I hope that Canada's change of mind wasn't too abrupt. Mind you, he still has some issues, but that kind of insecurities don't magically fade. Besides, it's canon that he's severely lacking self-esteem, even in modern times…

Anyway, I really hope you all liked this chapter and the story in general! Please review :)

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 **Visitor:** Thank you! _You_ are awesome :)

 **Monaterofsturf16:** Wow, thank you so, so much! I don't really deserve all those compliments, you're so nice! And of course I don't mind you asking, my first language is Italian (I'm Italian, and I've been outside Italy only 4 times, excluding San Marino and Vatican City). As for your theory… You're making my stories look way cooler than they are ;) What you thought isn't wrong, they are all set in the canon universe, so you could say that they all happened in my headcanon, they aren't mutually exclusive, but I hadn't conceived them as strictly related, either. And the order was completely casual, I wrote 'Overheated' (yes, you got the title right) first because it was the first that came to my mind (Long story short, I can't stand the heat. In July, I had to wait an entire morning in a room without air conditioning before an exam, then when I took the train to go home the conditioning was broken, and it was so hot that I could hardly think straight, and that story was born during that hellish experience), then I think I came up with 'I See Fire' and 'Needy Child' about at the same time, but I wrote 'I See Fire' first because 'Needy Child' was the only one supposed the be a multi-chapter story from the beginning, so I left it for the Christmas break, thinking I'd have more time to write (I actually didn't, I had forgotten that the internship doesn't include any break). Now, however, I see that those stories could represent how America and Canada's relationship evolved as they grew up (or better, how it got to the way it's now). Thanks for telling me, I like this theory! :) and I could never thank you enough for your support and patience, you've been so lovely :)

 **Guest:** Thank you so much! Both for your kind words and your patience :) and thanks for your help with French! I see that I had stuck too close to Italian with that translation, and google translate can't be trusted… Thank you!


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